


the dream that wakes you up

by rarepairenabler



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mutual Pining, Stargazing, minor Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji - Freeform, minor Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji/Iwaizumi Hajime, now with art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarepairenabler/pseuds/rarepairenabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa’s offering a repeat performance of <i>that</i> night, the night that Kuroo’s been replaying in his mind ever since it happened. Fuck.</p><p>“You’re not <i>that</i> good,” Kuroo argues weakly but Oikawa looks like he knows he’s already won.</p><p>“I <i>am</i> that good.” There isn't a single trace of doubt to it. His confidence would be nauseating if Kuroo didn’t know firsthand that there was good reason for it. Oikawa laughs and outstretches his hand to Kuroo. “So what do you say, Kuroo? Do we have a deal?”</p><p>Kuroo sighs before offering a resigned grin. He takes Oikawa’s hand and shakes it firmly. “When do we get started?”</p><p>((Pretend Dating AU))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NatRoze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRoze/gifts).



“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about him,” Bokuto says, laughing as he drops onto the couch. 

“So what if I am?” Kuroo challenges. He grins and pushes Bokuto off of him. “I’m telling you, the things he could do with his tongue—unreal. I had no idea there’s so many nerve endings there, Bo. It was a _religious_ experience.” 

Bokuto makes a face and clamps his hands over his ears. “Don’t want to know!”

“Why are you suddenly so scandalized? _You’re_ the one who said I should go out and get laid to relieve the post-finals stress.” 

“He has a point,” Akaashi says from where he’s sitting on the floor. 

“Yeah but!” Bokuto’s cheeks puff up as he gestures widely with his hands. “I didn’t know you were going to get all hung up on them. The whole point of one night stands is that they’re supposed to be, you know, _casual_.” 

Kuroo doesn’t do one night stands. He doesn’t even really do casual. Once Kuroo starts something, he sticks with it. He’s been best friends with Kenma since middle school, has known he’s wanted to be a lawyer for almost just as long, and still makes time to play volleyball with his friends on the weekends. He likes constants, likes the security and the familiarity of them.

Kuroo doesn’t know the first thing about keeping things ‘casual.’ 

He narrows his eyes and drags his fingers through the fringe of his bangs. “I’m not,” he says slowly, “hung up on him. I’m just saying that any sex I have from here-on-out’s going to be _disappointing_ in comparison to that.” 

Bokuto gapes at him. “There’s no way he’s that good. Nobody’s that good.” 

“He’s that good,” Kuroo insists and then slouches against the couch with a groan because it doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not like Kuroo’s ever going to see him again. 

“No way, man. You’re exaggerating.” 

Kuroo looks him in the eye and grabs hold of Bokuto’s shoulders, shaking Bokuto roughly as he speaks. “I came three times that night. _Three times_.”

Akaashi’s eyes grow wide and Kuroo thinks he might see a sheen of sweat gathering on Akaashi’s forehead. “Well that’s a bit… excessive, don’t you think?”

Kuroo ignores the question and lets a brief silence fall between them, only to interrupt it a moment later with, “He didn’t even leave me his number. He left before I woke up, which must have been pretty damn early because I had an 8 a.m. lecture. No note, no number, no ‘hey, thanks for the great lay,’ no nothing. I mean, who does that?” 

“Probably the same types of people who invite themselves back to your place almost immediately after meeting you,” Akaashi chimes in. 

“Very helpful, Akaashi, thank you,” Kuroo snaps. Okay, he probably has a point, but Kuroo doesn’t want to hear it because he’s still a little bummed about the whole thing. 

He doesn’t _do_ one-night-stands, or at least he didn’t until a few weeks ago, but that was an exception to the rule. An outlier, if you will. Before that, Kuroo had never once had never as much as fooled around with anyone outside of his serious, long-term relationships. 

“You know what would totally cheer you up?” Bokuto asks as he claps his hands together. “If you went on a blind date with the best friend of one of my classmates from Kinesiology 304. 

Kuroo frowns. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“Apparently Iwaizumi’s friend’s been going through this slutty phase ever since his last relationship ended, and Iwaizumi thought maybe it might help to set him up with someone nice and morally upstanding such as yourself,” Bokuto explains. 

Iwaizumi…Iwaizumi. The name sounds strangely familiar. Wait—Iwaizumi, as in the classmate Bokuto always blatantly ogles whenever they’re working out together in the school’s fitness room?

“Wait, so this whole thing is just an excuse to flirt with _Iwaizumi?_ ” Kuroo asks in disbelief. Bokuto’s going to owe him one—no— _ten_ for this. 

“Hey, hey, hey! Iwaizumi’s a certified babe. You’d get it if you met him!”

Kuroo’s gaze turns to Akaashi as he waits for some sort of objection that doesn’t come. _What the hell._ “Oi, Akaashi! Are you seriously going to let your boyfriend talk like that around you?” 

“Iwaizumi _is_ pretty hot,” Akaashi says innocently, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

Holy _shit._

“Feh! Akaashi, you too?” Kuroo demands. 

Akaashi shrugs. “What can I say? I have a type.” 

“I don’t understand either of you.” 

“You know, Kuroo, you’re sounding pretty judgmental for someone who’s pining over a complete stranger. Do you know even anything about this Cinderella of a one night stand?” Akaashi asks. 

“ _Akaa_ -shi, that analogy doesn’t work,” Bokuto argues. “He didn’t leave anything behind, remember?” 

“My apologies,” Akaashi replies calmly. “Reverse Cinderella, maybe? He may not have left anything, but I’m pretty sure he took Kuroo’s dignity with him.” 

Kuroo groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I agree to this stupid blind date, will the both of you finally get off my case?” 

“Yes,” Akaashi and Bokuto answer at the same time. _Creepy_. 

“His name’s _Oikawa_ , by the way,” Kuroo tells them in exasperation. At least he knows _that_ much. 

Oikawa had made a point of telling Kuroo his name so that he would have something to chant into the pillow as Oikawa knelt behind him to spread his—

Kuroo sighs and braces his hands on his knees. “Fine, I’ll do it. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

~*~

Going on a blind date hadn’t seemed like such a big deal when Bokuto had first proposed it, but now that the day’s finally come, Kuroo’s starting to second guess himself. What kind of weirdo might Bokuto set him up with? He’d asked as much earlier, only to have Bokuto wave him off and say that this mystery friend must be hot because Iwaizumi’s hot and hot people flock together, right? I mean, just look at the three of them. While not that reassuring, Kuroo was at least impressed by his best friend’s ability to compliment so many people at once. 

Kuroo arrives at the restaurant 15 minutes late, his red tie askew and his shirt ruffled. He walks down the aisles for a while; his eyes darting around the room in search of a brunet wearing a tie with UFOs on it, because that’s the only detail Bokuto had given him, which really doesn’t bode well. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when he finally spots the offensively obnoxious tie. Kuroo approaches the booth and rushes out an explanation for his tardiness as he says, “Hey, sorry I’m late, I just had car trouble and I couldn’t—oh my god— _you_.” 

Kuroo chokes in surprise. 

He’d recognize those soft brown eyes, and that playful smile just about anywhere. Oikawa’s wearing glasses and that stupid _tie_ —probably the worst fashion statement to happen to mankind—but he looks otherwise the same. Kuroo’s stomach does flips and he considers bolting because for all his bitching, Kuroo didn’t actually expect to see Oikawa again so soon, or ever, really. 

“You,” laughs Oikawa gleefully, momentarily distracting Kuroo from his internal crisis. “ _You’re_ the one Iwa-chan’s set me up with? _You’re_ my straight-laced, do-gooder, model-student date, huh?”

Oikawa folds his hands under his chin; his eyes glinting with amusement as Kuroo reluctantly slides into the seat across from him. 

“I was in the top of my class,” Kuroo shoots back. He narrows his eyes and dares Oikawa to challenge him on it. Just because he looks like a trouble-maker doesn’t mean he is one. 

“Oh, I bet you were,” Oikawa murmurs, looking no less amused by the whole thing as unfolds his hands to reach for his coffee. He smirks as he tips his cup to his lips. “You’re certainly a fast learner, _Kuroo_.” 

Kuroo sputters, the tips of his ears turning pink. His gaze drops to where Oikawa’s hands where they look deceivingly delicate curled around the cup.

_Callused hands fist in Kuroo’s hair, tugging roughly as they groan into each other’s mouths, the two of them rutting against each other as they fall onto the bed. Oikawa straddles Kuroo’s thighs and yanks Kuroo’s shirt open as he lowers his lips to nip at the underside of Kuroo’s chin._

“Kuroo? Were you listening?” asks Oikawa casually but his lips are tilted in a smug smile, like he knows exactly what Kuroo’s thinking about. “I said you’re not what I was expecting.” 

“And what uh—what _were_ you expecting?” 

“A librarian or a monk, maybe, but you’re clearly not the pious type.” Oikawa smirks. “Iwa-chan made you sound as interesting as _stale bread_. Seems he’s misinformed.”

“Then why go through with it?” Kuroo cringes and tugs as the sleeve of his dress shirt. “The set up, I mean.” 

Oikawa sighs and rakes his fingers through his swooshy brown hair. “To get him off my back. Iwa-chan thinks he’s my mom or something and that it’s his job to take care of me,” Oikawa explains. “He’s convinced I’m using sex as a ‘coping mechanism.’ It’s all very bothersome.” 

Kuroo smirks. “Does ‘Iwa-chan’ psychoanalyze all of his friends?”

“Only the ones he shares an apartment with who keep causing noise complaints,” Oikawa admits, his lips tilting in satisfaction as Kuroo gulps. 

_Kuroo rakes his nails down Oikawa’s shoulders as Kuroo tries to muffle a moan against the crook of Oikawa’s neck. Oikawa’s grinding his hips down, the pressure too much and not enough, but Kuroo has no leverage like this, can’t do anything more than writhe and thrash beneath him._

_“You don’t have to be so modest,” Oikawa teases as he leans in to brush his mouth over Kuroo’s lower lip. His brown eyes are dark and hooded when he slides his hand between them. “I want to hear you.”_

_Kuroo nods helplessly, his lips parting on a sigh as Oikawa kneads him through his briefs. Kuroo arches into the hand that’s touching him but Oikawa’s doing little more than teasing, Oikawa’s fingers curling firmly against the fabric in as he tests how many broken, breathy noises he can draw from Kuroo. Kuroo’s whole body aches with the need for a release but it’s a good kind of ache, and it feels nice to let Oikawa take control of things, to concentrate instead on the violent heave of his own chest or the shudders that ripple down his spine as Oikawa slowly takes him apart._

“Well, this is been sufficiently awkward,” Kuroo says, laughing a little as he splays his palms on the table, preparing to leave. “I guess you can tell Iwaizumi that the matchup was a failed social experiment.” 

“Oh, leaving so soon?” asks Oikawa and Kuroo’s surprised to find that he looks a little disappointed. “That’s too bad. I already ordered for you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish everything on my own.”

Of course Oikawa would have already ordered. Kuroo temporarily abandons his escape plan in favor of satisfying his own curiosity. “Yeah? What’d you get me? Are we going to be sharing spaghetti, _Lady and the Tramp_ style?” 

Oikawa purses his lips before coughing out a laugh against his fist. “Sadly, no. I went with the beef and rice platter. Should I call the waiter back and change our order?”

Kuroo hums like he’s considering it. 

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright. So you really want to go through with this then, huh? The whole blind date thing,” asks Kuroo. He’s a little surprised how well Oikawa was taking things considering he’d been the one who skipped out on Kuroo in the first place. “I could just ask for my portion to go.” 

Oikawa’s face falls. “Originally I planned on drowning myself in the soup if things got awkward, but I’m still hoping that if it looks like I’m taking this whole thing seriously, Iwa-chan might cut me some slack.” 

“ _This_ ,” Kuroo snorts, “is you taking a date seriously? _You’re wearing a tie with UFOs on it_.”

Oikawa makes an indignant sound and slumps down to jab the heel of his foot against Kuroo’s leg. “The point was to be recognizable, you ass.” 

“Yeah, well, congratulations. You definitely achieved your goal. It was a near thing though, almost made the mistake of sitting with the guy with the ghostbusters bow tie. Now that would have been uncomfortable.” Kuroo smirks and presses his other foot down over Oikawa’s leg in retaliation. 

With a sigh, Oikawa withdraws his foot. He narrows his eyes, mouth closing and then shutting again as if he wants to defend the honor of his stupid space tie, but eventually the tension eases from his shoulders and he smiles again. “Say, Kuroo, how did you get roped into this, anyway? You know all the sordid details of my life that led to this intervention, but how about you? What’s so sad about your life that your friends tried to set you up with a total stranger?’

Kuroo coughs loudly, the sound of it startling the waiter who’d just ducked in to refill their cups.

“Just doing a favor for a friend who is totally dead next time I see him,” Kuroo mutters as a flush creeps along his neck. 

“That so?” Oikawa asks, leveling Kuroo with a look in between another sip of tea. “Weird. Because I distinctly remember Iwa-chan mentioning something about _sexual repression_.” 

Kuroo gracefully spits out his tea. “Geh—wha? Christ, that’s not—Bokuto’s exaggerating, it really hasn’t been—it’s not a big deal it—shit.” 

Oikawa slams his fist down against his palm. He grins triumphantly. “Aha! I knew it. When you said you don’t do that sort of thing, you weren’t lying, huh? And here I thought you were just being coy.” 

_“Relax,” Oikawa murmurs as he slots a knee in between Kuroo’s splayed thighs. He mouths along the arched line of Kuroo’s spine, watching in appreciation as Kuroo cants his hips in an unvoiced plea for more. “You’re going to like this part, trust me.”_

_Kuroo believes him, since he’s liked everything Oikawa’s given him so far—from the devastatingly slow strokes of Oikawa’s hand to the bruising kisses Oikawa pressed between his shoulders, but it has been over a year since Kuroo was with another guy and at least five months since he felt **anything** more than the slide of his own hand... It’s no exaggeration to say that every sensation feels a little overwhelming. _

_“I--uh, I haven’t—I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” Kuroo admits, his voice hoarse and his face red as he clenches his hands in the sheets. It’s the second time he’s said it now, the first time being outside the bar when Oikawa had pushed him against the wall, Kuroo’s lips dragging over Oikawa’s exposed collar as the other boy deftly unzipped Kuroo’s jeans. Kuroo whimpers at the memory._

_Oikawa makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement as he braces his hands on Kuroo’s thighs, spreading them farther apart. Kuroo can hear the smugness in his voice as Oikawa says, “That’s fine; I don’t mind putting in a little extra work.”_

“Jeez, don’t look so upset,” Oikawa says. He snickers as Kuroo glares. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I only bring it up to—”

“Annoy me?” Kuroo guesses, thoroughly unamused. 

Oikawa shrugs. “A little. But also because I think we can help each other out.” 

If there’s anything to be learned from this evening, it’s to stop doing people favors. But Kuroo asks anyway, even though in the back as his mind he can hear Bokuto making some dumb pun about cats and curiosity. 

“Yeah? How do you figure?”

“If I can humor Iwa-chan long enough with this romance stuff, he’ll stop worrying about me and I can go back to having all the fun, healthy, safe recreational sex that I want to,” Oikawa explains. 

“That’s nice, I guess.” Kuroo blinks slowly in confusion. “And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

Oikawa’s gaze turns sharp and determined as he folds his hands together and leans in. “I want you to date me. For a few weeks, maybe. A month. Tops. It wouldn’t be real but it needs to be a good enough performance that it’ll convince even my closest friends.” 

“You have a shitty personality, you know that?” Kuroo asks. “And why, in my right mind, would I help you?” 

Oikawa’s eyebrows pull downwards, his smile sharp and dangerous as he smirks. “You’ve heard of the term ‘friends with benefits,’ right? We’re not friends, of course, but I can promise you that pretending to be my boyfriend would come with a lot of perks. You know, you scratch my back, I suck your—”

“Yeah I,” Kuroo licks his lips, “I get the idea.”

Sex. Oikawa’s offering a repeat performance of _that_ night, the night that Kuroo’s been replaying in his mind ever since it happened. Fuck. 

“You’re not _that_ good,” Kuroo argues weakly but Oikawa looks like he knows he’s already won. 

“I _am_ that good.” There isn't a single trace of doubt to it. His confidence would be nauseating if Kuroo didn’t know firsthand that there was good reason for it. Oikawa laughs and outstretches his hand to Kuroo. “What do you say, Kuroo? Do we have a deal?” 

_Kuroo’s shoved against the mattress with every grind of Oikawa’s hips, the friction against his cock the perfect companion to Oikawa’s firm and steady thrusts. It’s too soon for him to be coming again, but Kuroo can already feel his orgasm building. Heat pools low in his belly and his muscles tense as he clenches down and pushes back against Oikawa. He recalls the orgasm Oikawa had wrung from him earlier, Oikawa’s head buried between Kuroo’s legs and his hands perched on Kuroo’s knees as he bobbed his head up and down on Kuroo’s cock._

_“O-Oikawa--I’m almost—I’m,” Kuroo groans._

_He wasn’t able to hold out then and he’s not able to now. Kuroo’s legs tremble and shake, a litany of mumbled curses falling from his lips as Oikawa reaches down and wraps his hand around Kuroo’s cock. The angle’s a little awkward but the relief of finally being touched is all it takes before Kuroo’s coming. His body turns pliant and relaxed beneath Oikawa’s as Oikawa jerks him through it._

_“I think you’ve ruined me,” Kuroo mumbles, his face pressed against the pillow, “for all other dick.”_

Kuroo sighs before offering a resigned grin. He takes Oikawa’s hand and shakes it firmly. “So, when do we get started?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "get rekt kuroo" - NatRoze

Kuroo’s eyes flutter open as he wakes to find both of his arms outstretched towards the other side of the bed, his hands groping at empty sheets. There’s a slight impression on the pillow from where Oikawa’s head had been, but otherwise Oikawa’s hadn’t left any evidence of last night’s repeat performance. Kuroo stretches sleepily and rubs his palm against his stomach, a hiss escaping between his clenched teeth when his fingers accidentally brush against the cluster of bruises blooming there. Okay, maybe the pillow’s not the only evidence—there’s a smatter of hickeys trailing along Kuroo’s collar and a few discolored marks swelling across his ribs.

Kuroo breathes out a pleased sigh as he presses a finger to one of his hickeys—this time on purpose—and pants at the memory of how he’d received it. He presses the heel of his hand down against his boxers as he tries to ignore the way warmth immediately courses through him, all the way down to his toes, as he thinks about Oikawa’s mouth on him, warm and firm like a brand. Oh God, and Oikawa’s _hands._ His well-manicured nails scaling down Kuroo’s back, palms rough with calluses; his ministrations calculated and deliberate as he touches Kuroo’s body as if he’s already well-versed in its secrets. Knows what to murmur against Kuroo’s parted lips so that Kuroo comes with an embarrassed, startled whine, Kuroo’s back arching off the bed with the force of it. Or how to find _that_ spot, how to push against it mercilessly until Kuroo’s eyes are rolling back and his hands are twisting in the sheets, every word falling from his lips a broken, choked out mantra of Oikawa’s name. 

_Kuroo gasps sharply, his fingers digging into Oikawa’s shoulders as Oikawa ducks down to suck hard at the hinge of Kuroo’s jaw._

_Kuroo’s heels press against Oikawa’s back and he squeaks— **squeaks** —at the sudden scrape of teeth against his skin._

_At the sound, Oikawa pulls back and lifts his head in concern, his eyes searching Kuroo’s face. “Sorry. Did you want me to stop?”_

_That’s the exact **opposite** of what Kuroo wants though, wordlessly gaping for a moment before he lets his legs fall open further, and bares the long line of his neck, his fingers reaching up to tug at Oikawa’s hair in encouragement._

_“Oh.” Oikawa’s confidence makes an immediate reappearance as he pops open the buttons of Kuroo’s jeans. “You like that, huh? Should I try it again?” Oikawa purrs, the sound of it reverberating off Kuroo’s skin. Oikawa’s pupils are blown, his eyes lidded as Kuroo writhes beneath him._

_Kuroo nods vigorously, his breathing ragged as Oikawa nips along his collar, lapping gently after to soothe the abused skin._

_“More?” Oikawa asks in a low voice. His voice sounds nearly as rough as Kuroo’s, even though he’s hardly let Kuroo touch him. Oikawa trails one hand down Kuroo’s bare chest, smoothing his palm over the planes of muscle like he’s mapping out all the places he has yet to mark._

_“Ah, fuck, Oikawa please, I want it. Touch me, **touch me** I need—”_

Kuroo frowns down at the way he’s already tenting in his boxers. Did he wake up like this or did he carelessly work himself up over thoughts of Oikawa? The latter seems more likely. With a snort of irritation, Kuroo gets out of bed, stubbornly ignoring his erection because this whole arrangement was supposed to _lessen_ the ‘sexual frustration,’ not _add_ to it. Damn it. 

_It’s too early for this shit_ , Kuroo pulls a shirt over his head before tugging on a pair of jeans. He pads into the kitchen in search of coffee. 

“Dude, what happened to you?” Bokuto asks from where his chest’s folded over couch, his arms wrapped around Akaashi’s shoulders and his toes only barely touching the carpet. His eyes flicker over Kuroo’s bruised collar in concern. 

Kuroo glances down at himself as he drains the coffee from the kettle into his mug. “Oh. Right, _that_. Heh, you should see the _other_ guy. The other guy’s Oikawa, in case you missed it.” 

“I really hope you’re bluffing, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi gives Kuroo a withering look. “Because Iwaizumi-san wouldn’t be pleased to know Oikawa’s not taking proper care of himself.”

“How are things going between you guys and Iwaizumi, anyway?” asks Kuroo as he joins them in the living room. “Actually, don’t answer that.” 

Akaashi arches an eyebrow at Kuroo in skepticism. 

“Wait, who am I kidding?— _tell me everything_.” Kuroo sits down and leans forward, folding his hands in his lap. 

“Things are going great!” Bokuto beams. “We’ve been texting all morning since Oikawa updated your relationship status!” 

Kuroo wheezes and clutches at his knees.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa did _what_ now?” _That little shit._

Akaashi smirks. “You haven’t seen it yet? It already has 200 likes. Even your grandmother’s liked it.” 

Kuroo groans into his hands. He can just imagine how that conversation’s going to go: _‘He’s a handsome, strapping young man, Tetsurou! Don’t let this one go!’_

“Dude, shouldn’t you be happier about this? At least your family’s cool with it. Whenever my parents come over, I still have to pretend like Akaashi and I don’t share a room.” Bokuto makes a face and ducks down to play with the tips of Akaashi’s hair that curl along the nape of his neck. Kuroo tenses, his hands curling into tight fists as he remembers the day Bokuto came out to his parents, the bright red imprint of a hand splayed across Bokuto cheek, the tears that streamed down Bokuto’s face as quietly asked if he could stay with Kuroo for a while. Bokuto’s family is the worst and Kuroo would happily fistfight any of them if Bokuto gave him permission. Akaashi’s lips thin into a hard line like he’s thinking the same thing. 

“So...why Iwaizumi?” Kuroo glances at Akaashi in a desperate attempt to change the topic. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bokuto’s pout deepening—a sign that often leads to an episode. 

“ _Because_ ,” Bokuto starts, his smile slowly returning as he leans in conspiratorially to announce, “ _Akaashi’s_ a ten. _Iwaizumi’s_ a ten. _I’m_ a ten. Combined, we’re a _thirty_! An unstoppable pairing!” Bokuto clenches his fists in excitement and barks out a triumphant laugh. 

Akaashi sighs and presses his hand to his forehead.

“Solid logic,” Kuroo chuckles. “So, what’s the plan of action, exactly? Piggyback on my love life until Iwaizumi asks you guys out?” 

Bokuto’s smile breaks into a full-blown grin as he shakes his head. “Nah, I was thinking a more direct line of attack: _booty shorts_.” Bokuto winks, gesturing to his white shorts, clinging tightly while riding high up on his burly thighs. 

Kuroo whistles sharply in appreciation and gives his best friend two thumbs up. “Knock’em dead, Bo!”

“You’re not wearing those in public,” Akaashi says in a strained voice. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. “I thought we agreed on _subtlety_.” 

“Aw, babe, don’t spoil my fun!”

Akaashi scowls and opens his mouth to respond but he’s interrupted by the loud chime of the doorbell. 

“Ya- _hoo_ , Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa sings from the other side of the door. 

Oh. Oh, dear God.

Bokuto rushes over to open the door and flings it open to reveal Oikawa. Oikawa’s not wearing his glasses this time which is too bad, really. They’ll be missed. The obnoxious space tie, on the other hand, won't be. 

Oikawa blinks at Bokuto in surprise, apparently not having expected a burly university student to answer the door in white booty shorts. 

“Hey, hey, hey! You must be Oikawa! I’m Bokuto!” Bokuto pulls Oikawa into crushing hug. Oikawa makes a noise of surprise when Bokuto releases him a moment later. “It’s crazy how you two happened to meet again! What an awesome twist of fate! It’s a relief, too, because wow Kuroo would not stop talking about how you—”

Akaashi exchanges a look with Kuroo, his lips lifting slightly in apology as Kuroo steadily sinks into the couch. 

“ _Oh_ , my dearest Tetsu-chan talks about me?” Oikawa asks, his eyes gleaming and his voice saccharine sweet as he drapes his arm around Bokuto’s thick shoulders. 

Kuroo pointedly glances down at his own bare wrist. “Hey, would you look at the time! You two were just about to head out to the gym, right?” 

“Oh? Bokuto and I were just chatting. No reason to be hasty,” Oikawa reprimands. 

“Kuroo’s right,” Akaashi says, rising to his feet. Nice save, Akaashi! “We are actually about to head out— _after_ Bokuto-san changes, that is. C’mon Bokuto-san, let’s give the new couple some space.” 

Bokuto whines in complaint but Akaashi ushers him back into their bedroom so that he can put on more ‘respectable’ gym clothes that are less likely to cause awkward boners and/or heart attacks. 

A few minutes later, Bokuto bursts out of his room holding Akaashi’s hand and wearing shorts that at least reach mid-thigh. “Aight, Bokuto and Akaashi _out_.” Bokuto gives them a salute. “It was nice meeting you, Oikawa! Don’t be too rough; we need Kuroo in good shape for our weekend tournament!”

Akaashi steeples his hands and bows in apology before following Bokuto out their front door. 

Oikawa snickers and skates a finger along the armrest of the couch Kuroo’s sitting on. “Your friends seem… _colorful_.” 

“Yeah, they’re alright,” Kuroo says, tone warm with fondness as he sets his coffee aside. “What are you doing here, Oikawa?”

“Didn’t you get my note?” Oikawa’s smile wavers slightly as he plucks at a loose string on the couch’s armrest. “I left in on your bedside table.” 

_The bedside table_. Kuroo hadn’t even thought to check this time. “Nope.”

Oikawa clucks his tongue against his cheek. “Well, if you’d read it, you’d know I came over to discuss _this_!” He waves a notepad in front of Kuroo’s face. There’s aliens doodled in the margins in what appears to be green glittery ink. 

“What exactly is ‘this’?”

“It’s our plan,” says Oikawa, staring expectantly. 

“For world domination?” It’s more likely that Oikawa’s showed up unannounced to discuss fake-dating strategy, but Kuroo feels like testing Oikawa’s patience a little after everything he’s been through within the last 24 hours. 

Kuroo’s fairly certain they already covered all the bases of their pretend relationship at the restaurant.

_“Two weeks, huh?”_

_Oikawa’s tongue peeks out between his lips. “Three, tops.”_

_“So, how does this work, exactly?” Kuroo asks cautiously as he fiddles with the paper wrapper of his straw. “What are the terms? No kissing or hand holding?”_

_Oikawa makes a noise of derision. He buries his face against his elbow as he chuckles. “Why wouldn’t there be kissing? I’m not a sex worker, Kuroo, and this isn’t an American movie. Also, we’ve already kissed. That wouldn’t make sense.”_

_Kuroo sighs in relief. “Fair enough. Wait, are you going to go all 50 shades on my ass and make me sign a contract?” He presses. Kuroo needs to know what he’s getting himself into before fully agreeing to Oikawa’s terms. This whole thing sounds overly simple. “Cause I’m an undergrad law student and I can tell you that that shit does **not** hold up in court.” _

_“Way too many American movies,” Oikawa intones to himself. “You’re overthinking things but if it’ll put you at ease… **here** ,” Oikawa says, retrieving a pen from the messenger bag he’d brought with him. He jots something down on one of the napkins and winks as he slides the napkin over the table to Kuroo. _

_Kuroo narrows his eyes at the napkin as he reads. “I hereby promise not to develop romantic feelings for Oikawa Tooru. If I do, the arrangement is off.”_

_Oikawa’s signed his name at the bottom in elegant, loopy cursive._

_“Hilarious.” Kuroo deadpans._

_Oikawa bites down on his lower lip to combat the smile that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I left a spot for you to sign at the bottom. I promise I have **no** intention of going ‘all 50 shades on your ass’…unless you’re referring to the blindfolds and the whips—in which case, I’d be willing to give it a shot if that’s what you’re into.”_

_Kuroo balks, his face heating up. “I uh—I’m good, thanks.”_

They’ve been through all of this already and yet _here_ is Oikawa, waving a notepad at Kuroo with growing enthusiasm. “No, silly. It’s our dating itinerary.” 

It seems that pretending to date someone is more time-consuming than actually dating someone. 

Who would’ve thought?

Kuroo snorts. “I’m sorry—our what now?”

_“Dating itinerary,”_ Oikawa repeats slowly like Kuroo’s suffering from head trauma. “I want to plan out all our dates in advance.”

“Is that going to take a lot of time? Cause I was actually planning on putting something on the stove.” Kuroo rolls his eyes and gets up from the couch. 

Oikawa’s face lights up. “Oh? Tetsu-chan’s already cooking for me? How charming,” he teases as he follows Kuroo into the kitchen. 

With a grunt, Kuroo snatches the notepad from Oikawa’s hands. His eyes scan over it quickly as Oikawa fidgets and paces beside him. Most of the stuff is the typical date locations—picnic in the park, coffee date at a nearby café, sightseeing at the aquarium, dinner by the lake, but some of it…

“The Tokyo Aviation and Space Museum?” Kuroo asks dubiously, pointing to its ranking as second on the list. 

Oikawa glares and snatches the list back. “Hey, this is my fake relationship. I get to plan the dates. It’s a museum, Tetsu-chan. With exhibits about _space_! And if we go next week we can catch the new _Star Trek exhibition_ ,” Oikawa says, breathless in excitement. He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet and it’s sort of adorable. 

“I’m starting to think this whole arrangement is less about convincing Iwaizumi of your emotional maturity, and more about finding someone to drag to all your nerd stuff. Oikawa, one of these literally just say, ‘Tetsu-chan buys Tooru milk bread.’” 

Oikawa purses his lips and drags his fingers through his hair. “Fine, then. Where would _you_ like to go for our date?” 

“Cat café,” Kuroo answers without hesitance as he rummages through the cupboard in search of the required spices for his recipe. 

“Cat café,” Oikawa repeats in amusement. “ _That’s_ your ideal date? You’d want to spend the whole time petting cats?” 

“Absolutely,” Kuroo replies easily. He narrows his eyes at Oikawa as he fetches the pans he needs from the drawer beneath the oven. “Why, do you not like cats or something?” 

Oikawa shrugs, his lips tilting in a smirk as he cocks his head to the side. “And if I don’t?” 

Kuroo’s last girlfriend was allergic to cats. They broke up for other reasons, but that fact alone had probably doomed their relationship. 

“Honestly? I’m not sure I can pretend to date someone who doesn’t like cats. S’against my moral code.”

Oikawa places his hands on his hips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs airily. “I’m impartial, but I guess I could learn to love them. For the sake of our pretend relationship, of course. Say, Tetsu-chan, what’s your sign?”

_What’s your sign?_ Not words Kuroo ever thought he’d hear in an actual conversation. 

“Why?” 

“Because _I_ can’t pretend to date someone I’m not compatible with,” Oikawa says seriously. 

Kuroo thinks about it. “Scorpio. I’m a Scorpio, I think.”

Oikawa nods, seeming appeased by this information. “And your blood type?”

Kuroo’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not going to answer that. I’m about to start cooking so you should probably get out of my kitchen before you burn yourself,” Kuroo says, flicking his wrist in dismissal as he bumps their hips together playfully. 

Oikawa grins. “Whatever you say, Tetsu-chan.” Oikawa suddenly tenses, his face contorting in confusion as he looks back towards Kuroo. “Oi, Kuroo, how come you never scold me when I use nicknames?” 

If Iwaizumi’s anything like Akaashi, it’s easy to see why Oikawa would expect his teasing to be more affective. Kuroo turns around and shifts forward to close the space between them, cupping Oikawa’s chin delicately as their lips catch in a soft but unmistakable kiss. Oikawa’s breath hitches, his lips parting invitingly but Kuroo ignores it, continues to slide his lips against Oikawa’s slow and smooth as he curls his hand against the small of Oikawa’s back. 

Kuroo backs him against the wall and slots his knee between Oikawa’s legs. Kuroo’s heavy pants brushing against Oikawa’s open mouth teasingly as his fingers trace a thin line from the nape of Oikawa’s neck, along the arch of his back, then just below the waistband of Oikawa’s khakis. 

He withdraws his hand and pulls back completely as Oikawa sways towards him. Kuroo's mouth twists into a smirk when Oikawa makes a noise of protest. 

“Because, _dearest_ Oikawa, I don’t mind. Actually, I kind of _enjoy_ it,” Kuroo murmurs. He leans in to mouth at the sensitive skin behind Oikawa’s ear, gratified by the shudder that it draws from the other boy. “You can call me whatever you’d like.” 

“You’re— _ahh_ —you’re ruining my fun,” Oikawa accuses, the tips of his ears turning an enticing shade of red as Kuroo trails wet kisses along his neck. 

“Am I?” 

When Oikawa finally finds the resolve to pull back, Kuroo can see the flush that’s spreading along Oikawa’s collar, too. 

“I’m uh… I’m going to be—over there.” Oikawa gestures to the living room. “Out. Of the kitchen.”

Oikawa skulks out of the kitchen as Kuroo only barely suppresses his laughter. There’s something uniquely thrilling about beating Oikawa Tooru at his own game. Kuroo smirks to himself and turns on the stove. 

~*~

“Perfect timing. The new episode of the X-Files is going to start soon. Is there anything to drink?” Oikawa asks as he saunters back into the kitchen while Kuroo scrapes the chicken fried rice onto two separate plates. Without waiting for an answer, Oikawa tugs open Kuroo’s cupboards. 

“We have juice, soda—”

“Wine!” Oikawa announces giddily. He hoists the bottle over his head in victory, the wine swooshing loudly in the bottle. 

“—and wine,” Kuroo finishes weakly as he watches Oikawa return to the kitchen, a happy skip to his steps as he holds the bottle in tow. Kuroo shakes his head in disbelief and he carries their plates into the living room where Oikawa’s already turned on the television. “Hey, I was _saving_ that, you know.” 

“Life’s too short,” Oikawa says sagely, taking one of the plates from Kuroo’s hand. “Besides, it’s a new episode of the X-files, Tet— _Kuroo_. What could be more momentous than that?” 

Kuroo’s brain automatically compiles an infinite list in response but he lets it go when Oikawa turns to give Kuroo a sad, pleading look. Kuroo’s weak, okay? _Weak_. 

Oikawa grins at Kuroo’s easy submission before he turns his concentration back to the plate of food. With a happy sigh, Oikawa spoons the rice into his mouth. 

“Mpffft! This is surprisingly good,” Oikawa mumbles around his mouthful of food. 

“ _Surprisingly_? I’ve known my way around the kitchen since I was twelve!” 

Kuroo’s mother taught him everything she knows. It’s a good thing too, because Kuroo would hate to think about how his roommates would fare without his culinary skills. There’s still a charred ring left on the bottom of the microwave from the time when Bokuto tried microwaving something wrapped in tinfoil. This ‘incident’ took place the very same day they bought their microwave.

The two of them finish their meals in silence, only ever interrupted by Oikawa’s loud slurps. A hum of content emanates from Oikawa's throat as he tips the glass to the pink bow of his lips. 

“Let me guess…Iwa-chan makes most of your meals for you,” Kuroo says, not bothering to conceal his smugness. 

Oikawa makes an indignant noise and sets aside the wine glass to fold his arms over his chest. “Wha— _no_ ,” followed almost a second later by a sheepish, “maybe.”

“Jeez,” Kuroo laughs. “Babysitting you must be a full-time occupation, huh?” 

Oikawa glares, his eyes narrowing as he shifts forward and pushes Kuroo down against the couch, his legs straddling Kuroo’s waist. “Rude. Iwa-chan doesn’t _babysit_ me,” Oikawa hisses.

Oikawa’s face is right there, hovering just above Kuroo’s and he looks slightly pissed so maybe now’s not the time to be thinking about kissing him, but Oikawa’s mouth is parted, his lips flushed and stained red from the wine and he looks _good_. Kuroo wants to _taste_. He can’t be blamed for it, really, for tilting his head up to lift his mouth to Oikawa’s, for licking along Oikawa’s bottom lip, and for groaning softly when he tastes the sweetness of raspberries against his tongue. 

Kuroo swallows the surprised moan Oikawa pants against his lips, Kuroo’s hips canting up on their own accord when Oikawa lowers himself so that their bodies are pressed flush together. Oikawa kisses back, _hard_ , his tongue brushing insistently against the seam of Kuroo’s lips, turning the kiss into something hot and filthy as his hand skims along Kuroo’s quivering stomach. 

“My— _holy fuck_ —my roommates,” Kuroo chokes out, his eyes squeezing shut when Oikawa slides his hand into Kuroo’s boxers. “They could, _ah_ , walk in at any time.” 

It occurs to Kuroo then that his roommates have been gone for a long time, much longer than they usually are when they go to the gym. They probably predicted something like this might happen.

_I owe them both a gift-basket or something_ , Kuroo thinks as Oikawa tugs his lower lip between his teeth. 

Oikawa snorts, the hand in Kuroo’s boxers forming a firm grip around his cock as Oikawa ducks down to suck a kiss to the hinge of Kuroo’s jaw. “What, you’ve never caught them like this before?” 

Kuroo laughs, the sound morphing into a low groan as Oikawa strokes Kuroo’s cock from the head to the base. Oikawa smirks and rubs his thumb steadily in circles against Kuroo cock’s dripping slit as Kuroo’s hands scrabble helplessly at Oikawa’s shoulders. 

“ _Shit_ —nothing I can’t repress,” Kuroo retorts. It’s a miracle he can manage even that, his head hazy and his skin flushed with heat as Oikawa’s firm strokes ease into a steady rhythm. 

The heat in Kuroo’s stomach coils tighter, his bare toes curling against the couch as Oikawa works him over. Kuroo’s mouth falls open in a silent cry as his orgasm starts to build and—

The opening credits of The X-Files suddenly drone in the background and Oikawa withdraws his hand and pulls away at record speed. Kuroo’s head drops back against the armrest of the chair with a ‘thud.’ He sighs as he stares down dejectedly at his own neglected boner. In this moment, Kuroo vehemently hates the X-Files’s theme more than anything, even his own stupid bed hair. He’d probably otherwise find the theme catchy and charming if it hadn’t interrupted him _mid-orgasm_. 

Beside him, Oikawa wipes his hands off on his khakis. 

“Seriously,” Kuroo draws out the word, “you’re really gonna stop to—in the middle of this?”

Oikawa nods and grins, his hands pressed to his cheeks as he draws his knees against his chest. “I don’t know, Tetsu-chan. _Is the truth still out there_?” 

“Unbelievable.” 

Kuroo makes the occasional teasing remark during the episode, sometimes complaining about acting or the effects. Does he dislike the X-Files? Not really. But he does enjoy the pinched look on Oikawa’s face whenever Kuroo teases him. The look is usually accompanied by a tongue hanging out from Oikawa’s lips along with sharp intentional jabs against Kuroo’s side. When the end credits start to roll, Kuroo breathes a quiet sigh of relief but of course Oikawa hears it anyway. Oikawa’s gaze turns sharp and focused as he gently kneads his hand against where Kuroo’s bulge is pressing uncomfortably against the hard line of his zipper. 

“Now, _where_ were we?” Oikawa asks, a mocking lilt to his voice as he undoes the buttons on Kuroo’s jeans. 

Kuroo lifts his hips to help as Oikawa shoves the jeans down mid-thigh. Oikawa spits against his palm before reaching back into Kuroo’s boxers. His hand curls in a tight grip and it doesn't take much—just the drag of Oikawa’s mouth along the long line of Kuroo’s neck as Oikawa pumps his fist one, two, three times, and then Kuroo’s _finally_ coming, his hips jerking and his eyes squeezing shut as he buries his face against Oikawa’s chest. 

“If I knew you’d be that _quick_ , I would have just finished it during the commercial break,” Oikawa says. He chuckles, patting Kuroo’s thigh condescendingly as he reaches up to grab some napkins from the table. 

“Shaddup,” Kuroo grumbles. There’s nothing he can say in his defense that wouldn’t be an inadvertent compliment to Oikawa’s god-like sex skills. Instead, Kuroo sighs and nuzzles his nose against the crook of Oikawa’s neck. “You’re ruining my afterglow.” 

“That’s what you get for insulting Scully.” 

Without any warning, Bokuto barges through the door, his face flushed and slick with sweat. There’s a millisecond of shocked silence as his eyes land on Kuroo and Oikawa entangled on the couch before Bokuto’s jaw is dropping, his screech filling the room as he covers Akaashi’s eyes with his hands. “Oh _god_ , think of the children!”

“Bokuto, we don’t _have_ any children,” Akaashi mumbles as he tries to pry Bokuto’s hands off his face. 

Oikawa grins. “Well, this has been fun, but I should head out before I overstay my welcome.” It takes a little bit of effort and maneuvering before they can disentangle their limbs. 

“Should I be expecting any more surprise visits?”

Oikawa smiles playfully as he swats at Kuroo’s chest. “Now, now, Tetsu-chan. My visits wouldn’t be a surprise if you were _expecting_ them, now would they?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my abuse of italics continues

“You should have at least worn gloves,” Kuroo reprimands as he cups his hands over Oikawa’s, his calloused fingers rubbing Oikawa’s roughly as he tries to increase the circulation. “Or, you know, a hat. It’s the middle of _winter_ , idiot.” 

Kuroo’s lips thin into a deep frown. He brings Oikawa’s hands to his mouth, his lips ghosting along the folds of Oikawa’s knuckles as he pants out warm gusts of air against the icy skin. 

“But my hair looked _really_ good today,” Oikawa protests. His hair’s now matted with snowflakes, the tips of his hair dripping onto the library couch they’re lying on. “And I can warm myself up, you know.” 

“Can you, Oikawa? _Can you?_ I’m not sure I can trust someone who lets himself catch a cold for the hashtag _aesthetic_.” 

Oikawa makes an indignant noise. “Worth it. The pictures already have hundreds of likes. Some people even tagged them as relationship goals. Ha, take _that_ obnoxious couples who have been rubbing their happiness in my face for _years_.” 

Kuroo grins in spite of himself. 

Of course Oikawa had the brilliant idea to walk along the beach’s boardwalk in the _winter_ for the sake of cute couple selfies. Oikawa’s hipster glasses kept fogging up every few seconds but they did get a good picture of Kuroo hauling Oikawa in by his scarf, their cheeks flushed and their eyes closed as Kuroo pressed a kiss to the other boy’s cheek. There was another picture Kuroo liked, one of the two of them huddled close, their breaths coming out in puffs as they made goofy faces at the camera. The filters Oikawa had chosen for the pictures were hideous and tacky, but the pictures themselves were…nice. Flattering. _Convincing_. 

“Was it necessary to be giving the peace sign in every second picture?” Kuroo asks and plants a kiss between Oikawa’s thumbs. 

“Is that _attitude_ necessary?” Oikawa shoots back as he pulls his hands away, breaking free of Kuroo’s grasp. 

Oikawa digs his phone out of his pocket. He props himself up on his elbow and throws one leg over Kuroo’s side, his face leaning against Kuroo’s shoulder as he takes another picture of them. A few people huddled around a nearby bookshelf whip around to face them when the camera goes off with a series of audible clicks. 

Oikawa will probably caption it with something like: **studying with the bae ;)**

Even though neither of them has actually made any attempt to reach for their textbooks. 

Kuroo ignores the curious and annoyed glances they receive as he ducks down to inspect the latest picture. Oikawa’s cheeks are splotched red and his hair’s slightly ruffled but otherwise, he looks as handsome as always.

“How do you _still_ look good?” Kuroo asks in disbelief. “Did you sell your soul? Because that would explain a lot.” 

Oikawa snickers and adjusts his position on the couch. He smirks up at Kuroo. “Was that a compliment, Tetsu-chan? If you think I’m pretty, you can just say so.” 

Kuroo hooks his fingers in Oikawa’s khakis, tugging Oikawa a little closer, his eyes meeting the other boy’s as he murmurs, “I think you’re pretty.” 

Oikawa blinks up at him, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red as his mouth falls open in surprise. A wrangled noise escapes from Oikawa’s throat before he desperately tries to cover it up with a wheezing cough. “Tch, maybe I _am_ catching a cold after all.” 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes and circles his arms around Oikawa’s waist, hugging Oikawa tightly against his chest. 

“My personal space heater,” Oikawa coos, pretending to swoon as his feet curl against Kuroo’s thigh. His lips slant in a self-satisfied smile as he lifts his arm, hoisting the phone up in front of them to take another picture.

“No more pictures,” Kuroo says, deftly pulling the phone from Oikawa’s hand. “My hair looks like crap today.”

Oikawa snorts and blindly reaches for his phone. “Your hair looks the same as always, but here.” He licks a stripe across his palm and then twines his hands in the bird’s nest that is Kuroo’s hair before rubbing in rough, circular motions. 

“You’re making it _worse_ , asshole.” 

Oikawa pulls back a little, the corners of his lips twitching as he admires the disastrously mussed hairstyle. “Nah, not possible.” 

Kuroo’s eyes narrow in a challenge as he lifts one hand and slides it beneath Oikawa’s sweater. 

Oikawa stares up at him, the amusement draining from his face as he tries to figure out what Kuroo’s up to. 

“Tetsu—”

“Nope, now you’ve done it,” Kuroo scolds and curls his hand against Oikawa’s stomach, the tips of his fingers digging in. He smirks when he’s gratified by a sharp intake of breath followed by a violent burst of giggles. 

“Ah—that _tickles_ —jerk,” Oikawa hisses and scrabbles at Kuroo’s chest. He shrieks as Kuroo dances his fingertips along Oikawa’s ribs and then back down to his sternum. 

Kuroo snickers and applies more pressure as Oikawa wails. “ _Mercy_! I was kidding! Sort of! Tetsu-chan, _forgive me_!” 

By the time Kuroo withdraws his hand, Oikawa’s red in the face with laughter, his eyes wet with unspent tears. 

“ _Worst_ ,” Oikawa wheezes and shoves at Kuroo’s chest half-heartedly, “fake boyfriend _ever._ ” He lifts his gaze above Kuroo’s head and scowls. “Hey, who’s that dweeb staring at us?” 

Kuroo cranes his neck to look behind him. Half the students at the library seem to be watching them now, but it’s more likely that the ‘dweeb’ in question is the reptilian jerkface with the ugly side-swept bangs who just flipped them off. “Ah. Suguru Daishou. Just some nerd who’s always trying to show me up in class.” 

“ _Fuck_ that guy,” Oikawa says with feeling. “Do you want me to trip him when he passes by? I can make it look like an accident.” He sounds almost giddy at the prospect. 

Kuroo looks down at him; his gaze fond as he watches Oikawa wiggle his fingers sinisterly. “You…you’re kind of a dick.” 

Oikawa tilts his head up, his forehead nearly bumping against Kuroo’s chin when suddenly his phone vibrates between them. He cocks his head to the side he reads the text. “It’s from Iwa-chan. He says that he has a break between his classes and that he’s on his way to the library.” 

Kuroo tenses up at the mention of Iwaizumi. It’s weird to think that he hasn’t even met the person this charade’s for show for (which supports Kuroo’s ‘Sad Nerd Oikawa Theory’), but he knows that Iwaizumi’s protective over Oikawa like an older brother and that he only wants the best for him and—

“Kuroo?” Oikawa squints up at him. “Are you—are you hyperventilating? It’s just _Iwaizumi_. He’s not going to interrogate you. Probably?” 

Oikawa sets the phone down on the carpet beside them. Kuroo can feel the curve of Oikawa’s smirk against his skin as the other boy drags his nose up along the column of Kuroo’s throat. “Relax, what’s to worry about? After all, your intentions are good and _pure_ , right Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa asks, his face the picture of innocence as he bats his long eyelashes at Kuroo. 

Brat. 

Kuroo strongly considers shoving him off the couch. 

Warmth lances through Kuroo as he’s sudden made hyper-aware of all the places their bodies are touching. Oikawa’s front is pressed flush against his and one of Oikawa’s legs is strewn over Kuroo’s side from when they’d posed for the selfies. Kuroo’s eyes dip to the pink, curved bow of Oikawa’s lips, regretting it immediately when he catches the triumphant glint in Oikawa’s eyes. 

“No worse than yours,” Kuroo chokes out in a belated reply.

Oikawa laughs and curls his fingers in the front of Kuroo’s hoodie. “Jeez, Tetsu-chan. So _easy_ to rile up. You’re acting like I offered to make out with you behind the stacks or something. Al _though_ …” Oikawa casts a speculative glance towards the history section. 

Kuroo’s eyes instinctively flicker back down to Oikawa’s mouth. 

That—that’s tempting But—

“Nope. No. _No way_. I value my membership with this fine establishment,” Kuroo answers as seriously as he can. “Besides, I don’t want to get your germs all over me.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Oikawa says, “I don’t really have a—a— _achoo_!” Oikawa sneezes against the crook of his own elbow. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo nods and pats Oikawa’s head consolingly. “That’s you. Healthy as a horse.” 

“You better not be coming down with something, Shittykawa,” someone says, sounding both annoyed and resigned. Probably a telltale sign of prolonged exposure to Oikawa. The guy, whoever he is, has spiked hair, tanned skin and an unimpressed scowl directed at Oikawa. “You have an important game coming up soon.” 

“Tetsu-chan, save me!” Oikawa yelps and ducks his head down so that his face is concealed against Kuroo’s shoulder. 

Kuroo blinks up at the shorter boy in confusion. This must be—

Iwaizumi.

As in Oikawa’s childhood best friend and the person Kuroo’s friends have been awkwardly trying to court for the past few weeks. That Iwaizumi. 

Under Iwaizumi’s scrutinizing stare, Kuroo suddenly feels uncomfortable about the closeness between him and Oikawa. They’re cuddling in _public_. 

Only a minute ago Kuroo had been picturing following Oikawa into one of the library’s deserted sections, crowding in close and shoving him up against a bookshelf, taking Oikawa’s bottom lip into his mouth and _sucking_ with intent before dropping to his knees—

There’s no way Iwaizumi can read thoughts, that he can tell that Kuroo’s though about it, that he’s _still_ thinking about it, so the sweat gathering on Kuroo’s forehead and the rapid pounding of his heart against his chest in anticipation of Iwaizumi’s fist colliding with his jaw are most likely symptoms of paranoia. And _yet_. Kuroo clears his throat and forces a polite smile as he tries his best to look cool and composed.

Iwaizumi’s frown softens into a tentative smile as he regards Kuroo. “You must be Kuroo. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

All good stuff, apparently. Maybe too positive if Oikawa’s initial expectations of their blind date were anything to go by. Kuroo stares up at Iwaizumi, his mind racing as he struggles to find something to say that’ll come off as both cool but responsible. What he comes up with instead is, “I told him he should have worn his hat.”

“Oh my _god_.” Oikawa glares up at him. “Traitor. I can’t believe you just tattled on me to Iwa-chan.” 

“Dumbass. How many times am I going to have to tell you to take better care of yourself?” Iwaizumi asks, but there’s no heat to it. 

He redirects his attention back to Kuroo. Iwaizumi drags his lip between his teeth as he scratches the back of his neck with the hand that isn’t occupied by textbooks. “So…Bokuto and Akaashi. How are they?” 

Oikawa snorts. 

“They’re good,” Kuroo tells Iwaizumi. “They’re both studying hard to get through exams.”

“Yeah, me too,” Iwaizumi sighs.

“They were sad you skipped leg day the other week. I think they missed you,” Kuroo says with a grin. 

“Oh,” Iwaizumi breathes out, his cheeks tinted red as he laughs in surprise. 

Bokuto’s been complaining that Iwaizumi’s either immune or oblivious to Bokuto’s flirting although maybe that has more to do with Bokuto’s cheesy pickup lines and less to do with Iwaizumi’s perception skills. 

“You guys should hang out some time. Outside of the gym.,” Kuroo adds. “I think they’d like that.” 

And the award for Best Bro ever goes to—

“That—yeah, that would be nice. I’d like that, too. Oikawa and I are going to this favorite ice cream parlor on Saturday. It’d be cool if you guys could join us,” Iwaizumi says.

“Huh?” Kuroo asks blankly. 

“Anyways, I’ve got class in 5 minutes, so I should be heading back,” Iwaizumi says. “I’ll see you back at our place, Oikawa. It was great meeting you, Kuroo.” 

“Bye Iwa-chan!”

“ _What_ ,” Kuroo intones as he watches Iwaizumi’s retreating figure. “What just. What.” 

Well. That backfired. Spectacularly. _Fuck_. 

“A double date, huh? Sounds _fun_.” Oikawa’s eyes gleam in a way that can only mean trouble. 

Kuroo groans into his hands. “Remind me again why I’m helping you?”

“Here?” Oikawa gasps. “In the library? Tetsu-chan, how forward of you. I guess you do want my germs after all.” 

This time Kuroo _does_ push Oikawa off the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

“Black tie?” Kuroo asks, holding it up for Akaashi to see. “Or grey tie?” 

Akaashi looks up from where he’s perched on top of the couch, his legs framing Bokuto’s thick shoulders. 

“Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says slowly, his brows furrowing as he momentarily stops dragging his fingers up through Bokuto’s gelled hair. “We’re going to an ice cream parlor. I really don’t think it’s a literal or figurative black tie event.” 

Bokuto waves his hand dismissively; his other hand curling around Akaashi’s calf as he unconsciously nuzzles against Akaashi’s thigh. “Dude, why are _you_ nervous about this? This is what, your fourth date in two weeks, or something?” 

“I want to make a good impression,” Kuroo insists, pouting a little as his friends exchange a look of amusement. 

Whatever it is he has with Oikawa feels fragile, delicate, intangibly centered around ‘ _Iwa-chan’s_ ’ opinion of Oikawa’s love life. 

Akaashi’s sighs, his nose scrunching as he swats Bokuto’s hands away from his hair. “Fine. If you really want to impress Oikawa, wear your maroon V-neck sweater and dark jeans. You’ll look nice, but not like you’re picking him up for prom.”

With a nod, Kuroo retreats back into his room to skim through his closet of mostly hoodies and skinny jeans until he finds the items Akaashi mentioned. He strips down to his boxers before rummaging through his dresser drawers in search of the skinny jeans. With little deliberation, Kuroo shoots Oikawa a quick text. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** what are you wearing?

Kuroo tugs the sweater as his phone chimes. He smooths a hand over the creases of the sweater as he reads the message. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** Ooo straight to the point today, huh? ;)

Kuroo smirks and rolls his eyes as he retrieves his belt from his dresser. He should’ve known better than to assume Oikawa would prove helpful in this situation. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** well if u MUST know 

Kuroo’s phone buzzes in his hand again to inform him that’s Oikawa’s just sent him a picture via Snapchat. He opens it unthinkingly, expecting to see the other boy sporting another one of his heinous vintage space-themed sweaters that Kuroo takes particular relish in mocking. 

That’s not at all what it is. 

Kuroo sits down against the foot of the bed, his breath catching in his throat as he takes in the image of Oikawa sprawled out on his bed, wavy brown hair splayed against the pillow, eyes blown and half lidded, lips wrapped around two spindly digits. 

Oikawa’s chest is bare in the picture, a pretty blush blooming along his collar. 

And is that—

Oh god, it is. 

Kuroo’s old Nekoma jacket is draped around Oikawa’s shoulders, the visual tugging sharply at Kuroo’s possessive instincts. His mouth dries as he stares down at the picture. He imagines tearing the jacket off the other boy, pinning him against the bed as the mattress squeaks and groans beneath them, imagines himself nipping and sucking at Oikawa’s lips until they’re red and swollen, until the other boy looks as wrecked as Kuroo feels. 

He pictures the mocking curl of Oikawa’s smirk, and the condescending tilt of his chin. 

‘So predictable, Tetsu-chan,’ he can almost hear Oikawa saying. ‘This is what gets you going? How _cliché_.’ 

Kuroo answers the imagined smirk with a breathy laugh as he clutches his phone in one hand, his other hand sliding down between his legs to squeeze himself lightly. 

Of course Oikawa would send him something like this when they’re supposed to be heading out in less than 30 minutes. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** tetsu-chan, what do u think? is red my color? ;)

It’s just a working theory, but it wouldn’t be far-fetched to suggest that Oikawa Tooru was put on this earth for the sole purpose of testing and/or torturing Kuroo. 

Kuroo falls back against the sheets, legs still hanging off foot of the bed as he shakily texts out his reply. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** NO. 

Less than a second later, Kuroo’s phone chimes. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** rude!! ☹ 

And again.

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** tsk no point in lying tetsu-chan, it tells me when you save it

Kuroo clucks his tongue and quickly shoots back a response. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** Narcissist 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** Try-hard 

Tch.

He narrows his eyes at his phone, heat pooling low as he imagines twining his fingers in Oikawa’s hair and kissing him roughly in retaliation. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** You sent that picture awfully fast 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** maybe u interrupted me 

Kuroo can hear the smirk in that response. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** maybe I was thinking about the time u came untouched just grinding back against my fingers

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** looked sogood spread out 4 me, made the sweetest sounds

A low noise, deep and guttural, is wrenched from Kuroo’s throat as he kneads himself through his boxers. He’s half grateful that Oikawa’s not there to hear it, that he’s not there to be smug about how easily Kuroo unravels at the slightest encouragement.

Kuroo slides his hand down past the waistband of his boxers. He curls a hand around himself and bites his lip to muffle a moan as he thinks about Oikawa getting off on his desperation. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** Fck, ur incorrigible

Great, now he’s texting like Oikawa. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** U started it, tetsu-can ;)

Kuroo shakes his head at Oikawa’s nerve as he tips his head back and arches into the loose circle of his own fist. 

It takes him longer than it should have to reply. 

**[To Oikawa Tooru]:** You know that’s not what I meant 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** tch seemed like u could use the distraction. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** Don’t over-think things, u’ll be fine. 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** just b urself 

**[From Oikawa Tooru]:** but with a better personality/ nicer hair 

Kuroo snorts as he pulls his boxers down and then kicks them off the rest of the way. He’d tell Oikawa to go fuck himself, but clearly that’d be redundant. Kuroo glances down at his watch. There’s not enough time to indulge himself, but it’ll do. 

He takes a quick shower, his thoughts monopolized by Oikawa and a certain jacket as he finally finds relief beneath the warm spray of the water. 

When he emerges from the bathroom, he finds Bokuto admiring himself in front of their full-length mirror. 

“Akaa _shi_ , hold do I look?” Bokuto asks, propping a hand on his hip as he strikes a pose. 

Akaashi gives him a slow once over. “Acceptable.” 

Bokuto grins and then turns back to face his reflection as he straightens the collar of his black and white letterman jacket. “Koutarou, you sexy beast! You’ve done it again!” 

He gives himself the thumbs up and rakes his fingers through his spiked hair. 

“Bokuto-san, stop touching it,” Akaashi hisses. “I used half a bottle of hairspray on that.” 

Bokuto mumbles an apology and looks over his shoulder at Kuroo. “Hey, you almost ready? We’re kinda cutting it close and I don’t wanna keep Iwaizumi waiting.”

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, and then we can head out.” 

~*~

Kuroo shouldn’t be surprised that Oikawa’s still wearing the Nekoma jacket, that the other boy decided to wear it out in _public_ where it’s generally frowned upon to ravish another person in plain sight. And yet here Kuroo is, unabashedly staring at the sleeves of his old jacket pulled down past Oikawa’s toned forearms, the collar of the jacket _popped_. What the actual hell. 

Kuroo’s a good person. He’s done nothing to deserve this. Probably. 

He drags his eyes away slowly at the mention of his name. “Huh? What? Yes.” 

Iwaizumi smirks from where he is seated in between Akaashi and Bokuto on the opposite side of the booth. “I asked you how finals are going.” 

Kuroo can feel Oikawa’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as the other boy scans the menu. 

“Oh. Uh, right. They’re going well. Oikawa seems to have gotten over his cold quickly,” Kuroo comments as he reaches down to pinch Oikawa’s thigh. 

Iwaizumi’s lips twitch as he sets aside his own menu, stacking it atop of Akaashi’s. “Yeah, apparently natural selection doesn’t work that fast.” 

Oikawa gasps and reels back in his seat. “ _Iwa-chan_ , that’s mean! Don’t embarrass me in front of them!” 

“You’re wearing a high school volleyball uniform that’s not even yours. Who’s embarrassing who, here?” Iwaizumi asks. His gaze shifts to Kuroo. “What’s _your_ take on Oikawa’s newest fashion statement?” 

Kuroo takes a measured sip of his water before answering with a shrug, “Unfortunate. But well, you know what they say about imitation and flattery.” 

Iwaizumi’s lips curl in response, his dark eyes glinting.

“Oi, that’s not—oh my god,” Oikawa whines as he slumps back against the booth. “Don’t _bond_ over this.” 

The waitress reaches their table, producing her writing pad from her pocket as she smiles at the five of them. “Is everyone ready to order?”

Kuroo and a strawberry milkshake, Akaashi orders a carrot cake, Oikawa orders a banana split, Iwaizumi orders a double chocolate cake and Bokuto tugs sharply at his own hair as he stares down at the pastel-colored menu in anguish.

“Too many choices,” Bokuto murmurs to himself. “ _Too many_. Do I even like desserts? What’s a dessert, really? Who _am_ I?” 

Akaashi and Kuroo share a look, the two of them knowing that if left to his own devices, Bokuto will never make a choice. Akaashi leans over Iwaizumi to look at Bokuto’s menu. “You like green tea ice cream. Why not order that?”

“ _Akaa_ shi, you’re the best! You know me so well!” Bokuto grins and finally sets his menu down.

“I’ll have the green tea ice cream,” Bokuto tells the waitress, “and hot chocolate.”

The waitress smiles gratefully and tucks their menus under her arm before walking away. 

Oikawa snickers. “Ice cream and hot chocolate? What a strange combination.”

“Are you sure you want hot chocolate, Bokuto-san? Last time you ordered it, you burnt your tongue,” Akaashi reminds him. 

“I’ll be fine,” Bokuto reassures Akaashi with a questionable amount of confidence. The issue’s dropped and they move another other tops like school and volleyball until the waitress arrives with their desserts fifteen minutes later. 

“Oikawa, no.” Iwaizumi whispers hoarsely when Oikawa reaches for his phone. “We’ve talked about this. In length.” 

Oikawa leans over his banana split and takes a picture before sitting back down in his seat. “Right. _You_ think photographing food is stupid, and _I_ don’t care what you think.” He makes a circle with his fingers. “Perfectly clear.”

“This is why I can’t be seen with you,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh as he prods at his cake with his fork. “Embarrassing.” 

“I swear to god, Iwa-chan. If you make one more speech about how taking pictures of everything just distracts from the beauty of everyday life—”

“—maybe if you didn’t use the shittiest filters,” Iwaizumi retorts, his hand curling in his napkin. 

“Oh god,” Bokuto groans and slams his cup down on the table. “I bnrfff m’tongg!” 

“Jesus, Bo. Try eating ice cream?” Kuroo suggests as Bokuto frantically gestures to his own mouth. 

Akaashi frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose, apparently above the obligatory ‘I told you so.’ Kuroo can’t help but admire his restraint. 

Bokuto, meanwhile, is shoveling mouthfuls of ice cream into his mouth until suddenly he yelps and clutches his forehead. He stares down at the empty bowl in betrayal. “Brain freeze. _Brain freeze_. Fuck, everything _hurts_.” 

“I guess I should have suggested water first, huh?” Kuroo says as he slides the glass towards him. 

It takes another ten minutes before everything’s settled again, Iwaizumi’s hand rubbing circles over Bokuto’s back until Bokuto finally stops making small, broken noises like he’s dying. 

“Feeling better?” Iwaizumi asks softly. 

“Yeah, man, thanks! I mean I’m pretty sure I just fried my taste buds but otherwise I’m fine,” Bokuto says, leaning back into the hand still splayed between his shoulders. 

Iwaizumi smiles in apology as he moves his hand back. “Ah, sorry about that.” 

“Eh? No, it’s okay! I don’t mind!” 

“ _Oh_.”

“God, _save_ me,” Oikawa whines to Kuroo, bumping their legs together. He shakes his head at them, making a low gagging sound as he pulls Kuroo’s strawberry milkshake towards him. Oikawa looks up at Kuroo, fluttering his lashes as he takes a long sip. 

“You know, this isn’t a competition to see who can be more nauseating,” Kuroo tells Oikawa as he sticks in a second straw. One of these days, he’ll have to learn how to stop indulging Oikawa, but it’s not going to be today. “First you’re stealing my clothes, now my food. What’s next?” 

Oikawa pulls away with a grin. “ _Your heart_ ,” he teases. 

“Your sanity,” Iwaizumi adds with a cough. 

Oikawa glares and folds his arms across his chest as Kuroo guffaws beside him. 

“Iwaizumi, Nice kill!” Kuroo says in between a fit of laughter. 

“I hate you _both_.” 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to reply but is distracted by the starved look Akaashi’s giving his neglected slice of cake. The cake is chocolate on chocolate, a caramel glaze drizzled in a crisscross pattern along the top. Despite the fact that Akaashi’s got his own slice in front of him, he looks like he’s trying to inhale Iwaizumi’s. 

“Did you want to try a bite?” Iwaizumi asks Akaashi, his gaze flickering from the plate to Akaashi’s mouth.

Akaashi turns his head to the side and stubbornly protests, “…Thank you, Iwaizumi-san, but I have my own, I shouldn’t. Yours just looks really good.”

“Ah, that’s fine. I sort of just picked that because it looked nice in the pictures, you know? I don’t have much of sweet tooth and I was planning on yours and Bokuto’s desserts anyway,” Iwaizumi admits sheepishly. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“I…” Akaashi looks torn. “Okay.” 

At Akaashi’s nod, Iwaizumi breaks off a piece with his fork, gathering as much of the icing as he can before hoisting his fork up to Akaashi’s parted lips.

“Mpfrrr s’really ggrrpf,” Akaashi mumbles around his mouthful of cake, some crumbs spilling from his mouth as he does so. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide in surprise as he pulls the fork back and then he’s grinning, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he pushes the plate closer to Akaashi. “Ah, you think so? You can have the rest if you want.” 

His eyes suddenly narrow as he leans forward into Akaashi’s space. “Oh, you got some icing there, on the corner of your mouth.”

“Here?” Akaashi asks as he wipes the wrong side of his mouth. 

Iwaizumi laughs and shakes his head. “Wrong side. Here, I’ll get it,” the exasperation in his tone clearly fond as he cups the side of Akaashi’s face in one hand, his other hand lifting to Akaashi’s mouth.

The four of them watch Iwaizumi with transfixed fascination, none of them dared to make a sound. 

Poor Akaashi doesn’t look like he’s breathing, his cheeks turning several shades darker as Iwaizumi drags the flat of his thumb along the outer edge of Akaashi’s bottom lip. 

“So sweet, I think I’m getting cavities just watching them.” Oikawa’s face twists in an exaggerated grimace as he plucks the maraschino cherry from atop of his banana split, twirling its stem between his thumbs like a spin-top. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that has _nothing_ to do with the giant bowl of ice cream you just polished off, Shittykawa.”

“Hey, hey, hey, Iwaizumi! It’s not fair for Akaashi to get all your attention. I’d like some too!” Bokuto squeezes his eyes shut as he sticks out his tongue out expectantly. 

Iwaizumi turns to face Bokuto, his smile fond as he scrapes another piece of the cake onto his fork and lifts it to Bokuto’s lips. Iwaizumi chuckles at the way Bokuto pumps his fist in the air.

It’s weird, watching them. Akaashi’s face is still red as he alternates between the cakes, and Bokuto’s ruffling Iwaizumi’s hair as he compliments Iwaizumi on his dessert choice. It’s like watching an awkward mating dance on the Discovery Channel and Kuroo can’t take his eyes off it. 

“You know, they’re actually kind of cute,” Kuroo murmurs, his chin propped against his knuckles as he grins at the exchange.

Oikawa grunts loudly beside him, pulling Kuroo from his thoughts. Kuroo turns to face him, unprepared for the sight of Oikawa beaming at him, a knotted cherry stem peeking out between soft pink lips. Oikawa grins around it and mumbles between pursed lips, “Mmpft babe, look what I can do.”

_I can’t take my attention off him for a minute_ , Kuroo thinks incredulously. 

His hand twitches where it’s perched on his knee as he recalls the juvenile ‘kissing tests’ from his childhood. _See how long you can hold your breath; see if you can twist a cherry’s stem in your mouth_. Kuroo makes a quiet sound at the back of his throat as he imagines Oikawa slicking the stem with spit, drawing it between his lips, softening it into something malleable and pliant before tying a delicate knot with the tip of his tongue. 

Oikawa cocks his head to the side. “Tetsu-chan?” 

Kuroo hooks his fingers under Oikawa’s jaw, tilting Oikawa’s face up as he leans forward to slides their lips together in a chaste but deliberate kiss. He grins against Oikawa’s lips as the other boy goes slack-jawed in surprise, using his brief upper hand to lick into Oikawa’s parted mouth. He draws a satisfying shudder from the other boy as he rolls the cherry against his own tongue and sucks down hard. Before Oikawa can react to the kiss, Kuroo snags the stem between his teeth and pulls away, tugging the cherry from Oikawa’s flushed, slack lips. 

“W-wha,” Oikawa stammers. He blinks slowly, trying to register what had just happened.

Kuroo winks and slides the cherry out over the jut of his own bottom lip before sucking it back into his mouth.

“Woah.” Bokuto barks out a laugh. “I feel like there was an innuendo in there somewhere.” 

Kuroo nearly chokes on the cherry. 

“Hey, I was going to eat that!” Oikawa whines as he swats at Kuroo.

“Oh? Did you want it back?” Kuroo scrunches his lips and makes kissy noises as he leans over Oikawa. 

Akaashi folds his arms in front of him, watching Kuroo and Oikawa in disinterest. “Kuroo-san, you’re as mature as ever.” 

“Jeez, to think they were accusing us of being the nauseating ones on this date,” Bokuto says, smirking, and then his face pales, his express contorting in horror. He slowly turns to Iwaizumi. “I—I mean. This is a date, right? Not a very large group hangout? Cause I’m wearing my nicest deodorant, Akaashi spent like an hour styling my hair and you offered to pay and god, somehow you look even hotter than usual? So the signs are pointing to—”

“It’s a date!” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “I mean. It’s a date. It’s _definitely_ a date, if you two want it to be?”

“We do,” Akaashi and Bokuto confirm in unison. 

“Actually, Iwaizumi-san, Bokuto-san and I have been wondering if you’d like to accompany us to the drive-in movie theater this weekend. They’re playing old monster movies and Bokuto-san mentioned you were into that sort of thing.”

“So formal, Keiji- _kun_ ,” Iwaizumi teases, a grin apparent in his voice. “But yeah, I’d love that.” 

Oikawa huffs under his breath and rests his chin on Kuroo’s shoulder as he murmurs, “We’re being out staged. Again. How’s that possible? We’re obviously the power couple here,” he complains, sliding his hand along Kuroo’s thigh. Whether it’s deliberate or unconscious, Kuroo isn’t sure. 

“Oho? So Oikawa hasn’t booked you solid for the rest of the month?” Bokuto asks, his grin broad as he ruffles Iwaizumi’s hair. 

“I can’t believe I’m losing to an angry hedgehog,” Oikawa says, low enough to that only Kuroo can hear, his fingers clenching against Kuroo’s thigh and okay, yeah, _that_ was definitely on purpose. 

_Message received._

“Actually,” Kuroo interjects. “Oikawa and I have plans for this weekend too. I have a big day planned for us. It’s going to be special. Perfect, even.” Okay, maybe he went too far with the boasting but the hand that was smoothing along the inner side of Kuroo’s thigh was pretty damn persuasive. 

Akaashi narrows his eyes in suspicion as he wipes his face with a napkin. “Right, it’s your two-week anniversary already. A very special occasion. _Congratulations_ , you two.” 

Iwaizumi snickers. “Hey, that’s actually an accomplishment for Oikawa.” 

“Do we buy them a gift? Bake them a cake?” Bokuto asks. 

“Please,” Oikawa groans, nudging Kuroo’s shoulder to indicate that he wants out of the booth. “No more mentions of desserts, ever. I’m so full. Anyways, you’re just jealous our date’s going to be way better than your date.” 

Iwaizumi sighs and smooths his hands down his face. “Why am I not surprised you turned dating into a competition? I’m done with my food, too, though. Is everyone else ready to head out?”

After paying, they exit the ice cream parlor with Bokuto and Akaashi leaning in close to Iwaizumi as Kuroo and Oikawa follow behind. 

“I had a great time,” Iwaizumi announces. He turns to face Kuroo. “We should do this another time. Well, I’ll see you next week at Oikawa’s big game.” 

Kuroo’s eyebrows pull together in confusion as he looks over at Oikawa. “I…”

Iwaizumi disentangles himself from Bokuto and Akaashi. “You know…the big game before nationals? You _are_ going to that, right?” 

Oikawa’s face gives away nothing not even a hint of what to say. So, Kuroo improvises. “Right, that game. Of course! What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t show?”

Iwaizumi nods his head in approval. He steps forward, lips stretched in a broad smile as he playfully punches Kuroo in the arm, hitting with more force than necessary. “Good man! I’ll save you a seat. You’ll be sitting in the front stands with me.” 

“Yessir,” Kuroo answers automatically as he watches Iwaizumi join Akaashi and Bokuto, where they’re now standing in the parking lot. Kuroo waggles his eyebrows at Oikawa, feeling light and giddy as he says, “Did you see that? He likes me. He gave me the arm punch of approval.” 

“Pfttt, you just called Iwa-chan _sir_. That was so weird. Please never do it again,” Oikawa says as they watch Akaashi and Bokuto each plant a chaste kiss on either side of Iwaizumi’s flushed cheeks. Oikawa makes a noise of distaste as he slips his hand into the back pocket of Kuroo’s jeans and squeezes.

Oikawa;s sporting that mischievous look on his face, the one that means he’s up to something, but Kuroo’s not going to stand around to figure out what. He fists his hands in the collar of the red volleyball jacket as he crowds Oikawa against the wall outside the parlor, one arm caging him Oikawa in. “It bothers you that much not to be in the spotlight, huh?” Kuroo’s his breath fans out along Oikawa’s throat as he draws in closer. 

Oikawa hums and slides his other hand into Kuroo’s other back pocket, reeling Kuroo in closer so that their bodies are pressed flush together. “No. It’s not their attention that I want,” he says, warm brown eyes glinting as he tilts his chin up to slot their lips together. 

Kissing Oikawa should be familiar by now, but it’s not. It still leaves Kuroo lightheaded, breathless, aching, leaves him clinging to Oikawa like a lifeline. The noses brush as they kiss, lips sliding together and then parting again as they both sigh into the kiss. “I want this back,” Kuroo tells Oikawa, tightening his grip on Oikawa’s collar as he sucks at the underside of the other boy’s jaw. 

“You’ll get it back eventually,” Oikawa assures him. “Once you tell me about this big _date_ you planned.” 

Kuroo laughs against Oikawa’s mouth and drags him down into another kiss. “Not telling.” 

Truthfully, he doesn’t have anything planned yet, but he’ll figure it out as he goes. 

“Not even a hint?” Oikawa asks, his hands still in Kuroo’s pockets, drawing a quiet gasp from Kuroo when he squeezes. Not waiting for a response, Oikawa catches Kuroo’s mouth with his own and kisses him slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world for just this. 

Which is when Iwaizumi chooses to honk his horn at them. 

“Oi, Shittykawa, hurry your ass up, or you can walk home!” Iwaizumi yells out the car window. 

“Lovely. That’s my cue,” Oikawa says, sighing as he pulls his hands out of Kuroo’s pockets. Kuroo immediately misses their warmth. Kuroo’s head drops onto Oikawa’s shoulder as he clenches his fist against the wall. “ _Iwaizumi_ has the keys?” Kuroo groans. 

“I know, honestly I’m just as shocked as you that his tiny little legs can reach the pedals,” Oikawa tells him and then he’s pressing his lips to Kuroo’s again, kissing him one last time before pulling away. “I’ll see you in a few days, though. I can’t wait to see what you come up with. It better be Instagram worthy.” 

Kuroo waits until Oikawa’s in the car before groaning into his hands.

_God, I’m way over my head, aren’t I?_ Kuroo thinks as he heads towards the car where Akaashi and Bokuto are probably preparing to chew him out for keeping them waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s late in the afternoon when Kuroo picks Oikawa up for their date. He’s parked in the driveway and sipping bubble tea while he waits for Oikawa to join him. 

Kuroo leans a forearm against the window sill and grins when he sees Oikawa finally come out of the house, his backpack in hand. “Took you long enough,” Kuroo calls out the window. 

Oikawa flips his hair and pulls open the passenger door. “Perfection takes _time_ , Tetsu-chan.”

“That’s all you’re wearing?” Kuroo says as Oikawa gets into the car, eyes wide with disbelief. “I told you to dress warmly.”

Oikawa gives himself a once-over, smoothing a hand down his sweater self-consciously before giving Kuroo an incredulous look. “I’m wearing a scarf and a sweater! Where are you taking me? The north pole?” 

“The suspense is already killing you, isn’t it?” Kuroo asks, chuckling when Oikawa glares. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oikawa responds innocently. Then, a minute later-- “Just to confirm, you’re _not_ taking me to the north pole right?” 

“Nope. And that’s the closest thing you’re getting a hint.” 

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Oikawa sniffles as he pulls out his knapsack and unzips it. “I prepared for everything, anyway.” 

By the looks of it, he’s prepared for anything short of an apocalypse. 

Kuroo blinks in surprise at the several boxes of pocky sticks, the five water bottles, the sky goggles, the—

“Are those dancing shoes?” Kuroo asks in disbelief. “Oi, I said _sensible_ footwear.”

Oikawa’s currently wearing hiking boots, but still. 

Oikawa narrows his eyes. “Oh? How am I supposed to know you weren’t just trying to catch me off-guard, hmm?”

Kuroo doesn’t deign that with a response as he adjusts his mirror. “You almost ready to go? You don’t want to use the washroom first?”

“Yeah, _mom_ , I’m fine.” Oikawa slides his phone out of his pocket and lifts it between them as he leans in close and drapes his arm around Kuroo’s shoulder. “Just gotta get in a road trip selfie first.” 

Oikawa spreads his fingers into a peace sign, his cheek pressing against Kuroo’s face as they both grin for the photo. “ _Say: milk bread!_ ” 

“Milk bread,” Kuroo mumbles as the flash goes off. They pull away after the photo and Oikawa nods in approval as he lowers his phone back to his lap. 

Kuroo bites his lip to hide a smile as he watches Oikawa change the picture to his lock screen. “Happy now?” Kuroo asks then inserts the key in the ignition, starting the car before Oikawa can make another inane request. 

He’s already started driving by the time Oikawa exclaims, “Almost!” 

Oikawa tugs his shades down and then reaches for the dial on the stereo. “Everyone knows it’s not a road trip without the music, Tetsu-chan.”

“Wait, don’t.”

But it’s too late; Oikawa’s pressed the button, the telltale sound of Kuroo’s favorite motivational speaker already broadcasting through the speakers.

“—a _real_ decision is measured by the fact that you’ve taken a new action,” Tony Robbins boasts through the speakers. “If there’s no _action_ , you haven’t truly _decided_.” 

“What…” Oikawa looks between Kuroo and the stereo in bewilderment. 

There’s a second’s pause before Tony declares, “Life is a _gift_ , and it offers us the privilege, opportunity, and responsibility to give back by becoming more.”

“…am I _listening_ to?” Oikawa splutters, his shoulders shaking from the force of his laughter. 

“Tony Robbins,” Kuroo says evenly, his attention focused on the road ahead. “One of my favorite motivational speakers.” He’s also one hell of a cool guy. And Kuroo considers himself to be an excellent judge of that sort of thing. 

Oikawa’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “As in one of _many_?” 

“I—yeah, I have a whole playlist.” Kuroo’s love of inspiration speeches—the kind that really get your gears turning, your heart pumping, your fire burning—isn’t a secret among most people who have known Kuroo since high school. 

“Oh my god,” Oikawa groans as Tony Robbins begins an impassioned speech on the valuable lessons one can learn from hard work and determination. “How can you listen to this stuff?”

Kuroo rolls his eyes as Oikawa presses his hands to his ears and makes a face like he’s in an excruciating amount of pain. “You’re literally wearing white pants. You’re not exactly in a position to judge.”

“The pants are trendy,” Oikawa retorts, waving it off. He gestures to the stereo. “ _This_ is just weird.” 

Kuroo scoffs as he makes a sharp turn. “Feh. You come into _my_ car, judge _my_ motivational speech playlist--” 

“Aww. It’s okay, babe,” Oikawa coos, patting Kuroo’s knee before resting his hand there. “At least you still have your looks. Anyways, I think I know a way we can still salvage this road trip.” 

Oikawa beams and reaches down and pulls his iPod from his bag, his other hand still perched on Kuroo’s knee. 

Kuroo can tell by the unbridled joy in Oikawa’s expression that he’s been waiting for this moment, for the perfect opportunity to torture some poor soul with his shitty taste in music. 

“No.”

In his mirror, Kuroo sees Oikawa give an exaggerated pout. 

“Aw, c’mon, Tetsu-chan. I’ll let you pick the music on the way home.” Oikawa’s already plugging his IPod in. 

“Oho? Will you? You’ll let me pick the music in my own car?”

Oikawa snickers and squeezes Kuroo’s knee with the hand splayed there. “If you’re nice, I’ll consider it.” 

Kuroo regrets not protesting harder when the first song starts to play. It’s worse than he’d imagined. The shitty indie electronica blares through the speakers and for a brief moment Kuroo contemplates driving his head through the windshield. 

“Seriously? How is this an improvement?” Kuroo makes a derisive noise as he turns the dial onto the radio setting. “I’m revoking your music-choosing privileges. Effective immediately.”

“What? Why? This is a really good song.” 

“It genuinely concerns me that you think that.” 

“No taste in music either, huh?” Oikawa chides, tsk-ing as he rests his chin against his palm. ”You’re lucky you’re cute.” 

Oikawa sighs and digs out one of the boxes of pocky sticks from his bag. He sticks one in his mouth before waving the box in front of Kuroo. “Did you want one?”

Kuroo nods and opens his mouth wide. He grins when Oikawa makes a face at him. “Can’t take my hands off the wheel; just feed ‘em to me.” He leans over to Oikawa and hums ahhh until Oikawa finally slides a pocky stick past his lips. 

“Mmmpft thanks,” Kuroo says, grinning, the pocky stick waggling from his lips. 

Neither of them says anything for a while. The cheery music on the radio playing in the background as Oikawa occasionally feeds Kuroo another pocky stick while Kuroo focuses on not missing any of his turns. 

“I think I’m just close my eyes for a little. Let me know when we get to…?” Oikawa announces suddenly. He curls up against his seat and crosses his arms behind him.

Kuroo laughs as he drums his thumbs against the steering wheel in time with the upbeat k-pop song playing on the radio. “Nice try. Still not telling.” 

“Ah, well. You can’t blame me for trying.” Oikawa drones. He yawns as he shuts his eyes.

Kuroo doesn’t need to turn his head to look over at Oikawa to know when he’s fallen asleep. He can hear it in the soft sound of Oikawa’s breathing and the uncharacteristic absence of pestering.

The rest of the ride goes by smoothly without any distraction and it’s not too long before the towering city buildings recede into the background, replaced by green hills and mountains with the slender silhouettes of trees, lining the countryside’s roads, signaling that they’re no longer in Tokyo. 

Russet reds, deep violets, and vibrant yellows streak across the evening sky, the clouds seeped in sunlight as the sky’s colors bleed into each other. Kuroo contemplates waking Oikawa up to share the view with him, but there are sunsets in Tokyo too and he doesn’t want Oikawa to realize where they are just yet. 

He waits until he’s parked outside of the path leading up towards a hill before tapping Oikawa on the shoulder. 

“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up.”

Oikawa blinks up at him in confusion before stretching an arm over his shoulder as he sits up in his seat. His brows furrow as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where _are_ we? Did you kidnap me?” He turns back from the window to narrow his eyes at Kuroo in distrust. “Is this where you’re planning on hiding the body? Iwa-chan would never let you get away with it, you know.” 

Kuroo lets out a long steady exhale. “Oikawa. We’re here. This is it.” 

“Oh.” Oikawa looks pleasantly surprised before his skepticism reappears. “And where’s ‘here’, exactly?” 

“Have a look for yourself.” Kuroo gets out of the car and walks around to the other side to hold the door open for Oikawa. It’s not a long trek from here to the top of the hill and if they head up now with the equipment now, they should reach the top before the sun goes down. 

Oikawa looks between Kuroo and the hill, his frown deepening. “It’s…a hill.”

Kuroo snorts. “Now there’s the keen observational skills I expect from the previous captain of Seijou. Here, help me carry this stuff. I’ll grab the tent. You can bring the food.”

“Tent—we’re camping? In the winter?” Oikawa gapes at him but takes the stuff anyway and starts to follow Kuroo along the path. 

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a solid plan but it’s been mild for the past week, so at least they’ll be laying on grass rather than snow. 

“I said dress _warmly_.” 

“What’s at the top of the hill? A five star restaurant? A private Taylor Swift concert?”

“You certainly dream big,” Kuroo says, adjusting the straps on his bag. “Maybe I should have let you plan the date.” 

“Oi, are you calling me high maintenance?” 

Kuroo turns his head back to smirk at him. “Something like that.” 

It takes them thirty minutes to climb the hill and by the time they reach the top, they’re both panting softly, their foreheads damp with sweat. 

Oikawa looks around, his eyebrows pulling together as he frowns. “I don’t _get_ it.” 

Kuroo shakes his head at Oikawa’s impatience before intertwining his fingers with Oikawa’s and leading to the edge of the hill, overlooking the town. “Daichi was complaining that all the light pollution in Tokyo blocks out the stars and it sort of got me thinking—I know you like space and stuff, so I thought maybe you missed it, too.”

Kuroo releases Oikawa’s hand and averts his gaze. 

“Stargazing,” Oikawa says slowly, his expression soft and fond as he looks out towards the darkening sky and then back at Kuroo. “That’s what you planned.” 

Kuroo rubs at the back of his neck, his cheeks tinged pink. “Well you know, it was last minute and everything, so--”

“No. I like it. This,” Oikawa says as gestures vaguely. His lips curve into a smug smirk. “It’s… _romantic_. Or it _would_ be, you know. If it were a real date. Definitely kicks their date’s ass.” 

Kuroo winces. 

Right. 

That’s the whole point of this, obviously. 

So hearing Oikawa say it like that shouldn’t make Kuroo’s stomach twist, shouldn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Awesome,” Kuroo says dryly. He turns away, hoping Oikawa doesn’t notice his soured mood. “Hey, wanna help me get everything set up?”

“Who knew dates required such strenuous manual labor,” Oikawa complains. The other boy places a hand on his hip and leers as he watches as Kuroo turn back to fetch their packs. “I’ll just be a second. I’m still admiring the view.”

~*~

Just as Kuroo predicted, it’s nightfall by the time they get everything set up. The two of them are sitting on the blanket they’ve spread out on the grass, the bentos Kuroo prepared already polished off when Oikawa shivers, the other boy’s teeth rattling. 

“You’re cold.” 

Of course, Oikawa prepared for everything but cold weather. At least he’s wearing a hat this time. 

Without thinking, Kuroo shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and drapes it over Oikawa’s. “Here, take mine.” 

“Then you’ll be cold,” Oikawa argues. 

“I’ll be fine. Besides, what would ‘Iwa-chan’ think if I let you catch a cold right before your big game.”

“He’d probably punch us both.” Oikawa shudders and reluctantly accepts the jacket. 

The jacket looks good on Oikawa, but that’s no surprise. Kuroo’s confident that Oikawa could wear a garbage bag and still pull it off. If it had UFOs on it, Oikawa would probably wear it happily. Kuroo’s imagining this, an amused smile on his face when he notices Oikawa lifting the collar of the jacket to his cheek. He stares as Oikawa nuzzles his face against the fabric. 

“Did you just sniff my jacket?” Kuroo asks, arching an eyebrow as he smirks.

“Whaaa? _No_ —I wouldn’t. I can’t _believe_ you’d accuse me of something like that, Tetsu-chan.” Kuroo can’t decide which he finds more satisfying; the flush that colors Oikawa’s cheeks and the tip of his ears or the fact that Oikawa’s _still_ holding the jacket up to his face. “It feels soft, okay?” 

“Uh huh, I’m sure that’s it.” 

Kuroo guffaws as he lifts his head to stare up at the sky. He stares in surprise at the clusters of stars already gathering there. From here, the stars look like fireflies, close enough to catch in his palm. Kuroo can sympathize with Daichi’s frustration; you don’t see skies like that in the big city. 

Kuroo points and says, “Hey, look.” 

Oikawa follows the line of Kuroo’s hand, exhaling sharply when he notices what Kuroo’s pointing at. 

“Wow,” Oikawa breathes out, his hands resting close to Kuroo’s and his grin blindingly broad as he stares up at the night sky in unabashed awe. 

“Yeah,” Kuroo croaks in agreement, but he’s staring at the boy beside him. Kuroo’s chest constricts as it dawns on him that he’s completely fucked. 

It’s just a stray thought, a futile revelation like realizing you’re drowning when you’ve already sunk to the bottom, but it catches Kuroo off-guard anyway. His breath catches in his throat as he pulls his own knees up against his chest and imagines a hundred of small stolen moments between them like this one, none of them shared with Iwa-chan or Oikawa’s Facebook friends. 

There’s a folded napkin tucked inside one of Kuroo’s dresser drawers back home that serves as a reminder that Kuroo’s not supposed to want anything from Oikawa besides frequent orgasms but it’s too far late for that now. Screw that napkin. 

“That one’s called Draco,” Oikawa announces, as he points at a cluster of stars his other hand touching Kuroo’s in his excitement. “And over there’s Ursa Major.” 

Kuroo squints up at the sky. To him, it all just looks like stars. He can only barely make out the outline of a vague shape as he points to the left. “That one sort of looks like a dick.” 

Oikawa tuts as he repositions himself so that he’s lying down on the blanket on his back, his hand resting on Kuroo’s thigh. “Why’d you bring me out to the countryside for this if you don’t even _like_ astronomy?” he asks as he tugs at the corner of Kuroo’s shirt in a silent command for Kuroo to lie down with him. 

“Cause _you_ like it,” Kuroo replies, his heart pounding as he lies down next to Oikawa. He half expects the other boy to address it, to ask why Kuroo’s been so goddamn weird tonight, but instead Oikawa blinks at him in confusion and then nods before returning his attention to the sky. 

“Over there’s Cancer,” Oikawa says.

Kuroo nods to show he’s listening as he turns onto his side and crowds against Oikawa, smiling to himself when Oikawa turns over so that his back is facing Kuroo. When Kuroo wraps his arms around Oikawa’s waist, Oikawa reaches down; loosely curling a hand around Kuroo’s wrist as he draws a shape against Kuroo’s palm. 

“Taurus.” 

And then he does it again, this time the light touches forming a different shape. 

Kuroo’s eyes flutter shut as he listens to Oikawa list off the constellations, the pinpoints of light fading out of sight as Kuroo focuses solely on the caress of Oikawa’s fingertips as they trace patterns along the splay of Kuroo’s palm and then down along his forearm. 

Distantly he thinks he hears Oikawa ask him something. Kuroo hums in response and smiles as he feels Oikawa’s fingers flex against his own. 

“You’re not even paying attention, are you?” Oikawa ask, huffing a little, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it so Kuroo doesn’t give a response beyond nuzzling his nose against the crook of Oikawa’s neck. 

Kuroo isn’t expecting it when Oikawa lifts Kuroo’s hand to his lips, Oikawa warm breath fanning out across Kuroo’s knuckles. And then suddenly Oikawa’s trailing slow, deliberate kisses down along the inner side of Kuroo’s arm in the pattern of a misshaped V. Oikawa’s lips linger a beat longer where there’s supposed to be a star.

Kuroo shudders as Oikawa presses a final kiss to his wrist before releasing it. He’s fully alert now, his eyes wide and his heart sputtering in his chest as Oikawa peers over his shoulder at him. 

“And that,” Oikawa says softly, “is Perseus.” The slight crack that Kuroo hears in Oikawa’s voice is probably wishful thinking on his part. 

“I like that one,” Kuroo tells him. 

“Yeah?” Oikawa smirks as his eyes meet Kuroo’s, his mouth hovering just above Kuroo’s as if daring him to close the distance between them. “Point to it.”

Kuroo fits his palm to the curve of Oikawa’s hip as he raises his other hand to point at the sky. 

Oikawa snorts and shakes his head. “That’s Orion.” 

Kuroo moves his hand to the left. 

“Monoceros,” Oikawa says, his brown eyes bright with amusement. 

“Damn. I guess you’ll have to show me again,” Kuroo suggests, grinning as he leans in. “I think it went something like _this_ though, right?” He rubs his cold nose against the exposed skin right above the soft fabric of Oikawa’s wool scarf until Oikawa’s squirms against him. 

“Jerk,” Oikawa hisses. He shifts, turning his body to face Kuroo’s as he cups Kuroo’s face in his hands. “Your face is _freezing_.”

“It’s chilly without my jacket,” Kuroo says with a shrug.

Oikawa hums in sympathy and shifts close enough that Kuroo can feel the warmth radiating through his clothes. He slips his hands beneath the hem of Kuroo’s sweater, tilting his head up to kiss Kuroo, brushing his mouth against Kuroo’s cold lips. 

Kuroo loses track of how long they kiss like that, Oikawa’s hands splayed against Kuroo’s stomach, their knees touching as their lips press together and then part again. The moment’s suspended in a time that’s as infinite as the span of luminous stars outstretched above them, every cell of Kuroo’s body is burning as Oikawa tugs him closer, his head dipping down to mouth along the line of Kuroo’s jaw, to trace his lips along the shell of Kuroo’s ear. 

“You uh.” Kuroo clears his throat as he pulls away. “You haven’t taken any pictures.” 

“Mmm?” Oikawa tilts his head question and then lifts his gaze to the sky when he realizes what Kuroo’s asked. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think my phone could capture something like this anyway. The moon always turns out blurry whenever I try to take pictures.”

“Oh.” Kuroo’s stomach turns warm and fluttery as he strokes his thumb over Oikawa’s bottom lip. 

“This was fun. Crop circles would make an excellent follow-up.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

In an ideal world, they’d stay like this forever, the two of them facing each other as they huddle together for warmth. But instead, Oikawa’s yawns against Kuroo’s hand, his eyes fluttering and his face contorting with the force of it. 

“We should probably,” Kuroo yawns, “we should probably go to sleep. We already have the tent set up.”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t giddy about the prospect of waking up to Oikawa tomorrow, of falling asleep next to him and finding Oikawa still there, still curled up against him. 

Kuroo smooths his hand over the waves of Oikawa’s soft hair as he wonders whether Oikawa’s hair is ruffled and mussed in the morning like Kuroo’s or if has to spend hours styling it to get it to look like this. 

“Kay,” Oikawa says drowsily before pressing a final kiss to Kuroo’s shoulder and then he’s stretching as he rises to his feet. Kuroo misses the warmth immediately. He holds his hand out to Kuroo. “You coming?”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” Kuroo smiles fondly, “just enjoying the view.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains some pretty explicit smut

“Kuroo-san?” Akaashi slides the screen door shut behind him as he sits down beside Kuroo on the balcony. “I thought I might find you out here.”

Kuroo hums in acknowledgement and splays his dog-eared copy of The Odyssey down across his thigh.

Akaashi’s fingers flutter against the WORLD’S #1 ACE mug cupped between his hands as he watches Kuroo with an indiscernible look on his face. Akaashi’s mouth parts and then closes again, exhaling softly through his nose as he repeats the action.

“C’mon, out with it,” Kuroo says, waving his hand in a wide gesture as he grins. “Whatever it is you’ve been working yourself up to say.”

Akaashi nods and takes a sip of his tea. “I know you’re always looking out for everyone else first, but,” Akaashi pauses, “are _you_ okay, Kuroo-san?”

Kuroo blinks in surprise. “I’m fine. Just a little bit distracted, I guess. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Like Oikawa-san,” Akaashi supplies. “You’ve been weird since your date. Did something happen?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer, worrying his lip between his teeth as he stares out at the sunrise in front of them, the pale sunlight peeking out beneath scattered clouds.

Akaashi tilts his head back against the wall, a reassuring smile pulling at a corner of his mouth. “If you want to talk to someone about it—I’m here, you know.”

“And if I don’t want that?”

“Then I’ll leave you to your hundredth reread of The Odyssey,” Akaashi answers with a wry grin. 

“And if I do?”

“Then I’m all ears,” Akaashi says, shrugging. “Kuroo-san, you don’t always have to put up a strong front. You’re not captain of this household, you know.”

Kuroo casts a glance at the door. “Bokuto—“

“—is out for his morning jog,” Akaashi tells him. “He won’t be home for another two hours or so.”

Kuroo nods and takes a deep breath before relaying the full story, leaving out anything and everything too explicit. 

“So... you’re not actually dating?” Akaashi asks, his eyebrows drawing together in understanding. He rubs his thumb along the line of his jaw and Kuroo can see each of the pieces clicking together in Akaashi’s mind. 

Kuroo picks at the loose threads on the knees of his jeans as he replies nonchalantly, “We’re keeping it casual.”

Or at least they were, until Kuroo went and fucked up what had been an otherwise perfect mutual arrangement. Not that Oikawa knows about Kuroo’s feelings yet. 

“But now you want more,” Akaashi guesses. He arches a brow when Kuroo looks up at him in surprise. “What? Is that not where you were going with this? You’re worried he doesn’t feel the same way.” 

Kuroo groans as he drags his hands down his face. “I’m so screwed.”

“How did you convince yourself that your arrangement was in any way a good idea?” Akaashi asks in disbelief. He sighs one of his ‘you and Bokuto are going to give me gray hair by the time I’m in my late twenties’ sighs. “I thought you were supposed to be levelheaded.”

Kuroo lifts his head. “Did I mention the life-changing-Earth-shattering-ly-good sex?” Kuroo asks and Akaashi shoots him an unimpressed look in response.

“It makes sense. The friends with benefits thing, I mean. Explains the weird unresolved tension between you two,” Akaashi reasons.

Kuroo makes an indignant noise, his eyes narrowing as he glares at Akaashi through his splayed fingers. “We don’t have that.”

“You do,” Akaashi confirms. “You’re both clearly into each other. I don’t think either of you could be any more obvious about it.”

“We could be,” Kuroo argues. “We could get matching tattoos. We could elope. We could be in an actual _committed relationship_.”

“Fair enough.” Akaashi grins against his mug.

Kuroo lets out a low sigh as he skims a finger along the weathered spine of his book. “God, what am I supposed to do, Keiji?” 

Kuroo already knows the answer, has already mulled over his options—each one suckier than the next—but he lifts his gaze to Akaashi’s, hoping optimistically, naively that the other boy will give him an easy out. 

“Tell him how you feel?” Akaashi suggests, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Oikawa-san could be thinking his feelings are one-sided, too. And if he doesn’t feel the same way…”

Kuroo’s stomach twists into tight knots at the thought of it. “Second option?”

“Give him space,” Akaashi concludes. “It’s possible he feels the same way but doesn’t realize it. Or maybe he’s knows but he’s not ready to acknowledge it yet.”

That, too, he’d considered. “I don’t like that option either,” Kuroo admits, his face contorting in a grimace as he rubs at the back of his neck.

“You could always break up; cut things off before things get too complicated.”

Kuroo makes a pained noise. 

“Well whatever you decide to do, just be careful. Regardless of how charming Oikawa-san may be, he isn’t worth getting your heart broken over.”

Kuroo coughs out a laugh as he tugs Akaashi into a headlock. “Oi, don’t go all grim on me. I don’t need my underclassman gettin’ their knickers in a knot over my love life,” Kuroo says as he ruffles Akaashi’s hair. “I’ll be fine, yeah? I’ll figure things out.”

Akaashi eyes Kuroo skeptically as he wriggles out of Kuroo’s hold. “If you say so.” He rises to his feet and pulls the slide door open.

“Hey, Keiji.”

Akaashi turns to look at Kuroo over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

Worry’s still etched into every detail of Akaashi’s expression, from the thin line of his mouth to the furrow of his brow, but his lips lift slightly in a crooked smile as he slides the door closed behind him. “Anytime.”

Kuroo watches Akaashi retreat into the house and then peers down at his watch. Only a few more hours until Oikawa’s volleyball tournament. He sags against the wall, his shoulders tense and his stomach twisting with guilt was he wonders how long it’ll take before Oikawa catches on, too.

~*~

Kuroo arrives 15 minutes early for the second last match, bubble tea in hand. Just as promised, Iwaizumi’s saved a seat for him in the front row. 

“You came,” Iwaizumi says, sounding pleasantly surprised as he shuffles over to make room for Kuroo to brush past. 

Kuroo nods. “I said I would.” 

Oikawa had shrugged when asked whether Kuroo should come. He also told Kuroo it was his choice... but being here for this felt right. He glances down to where Oikawa and his team are doing their stretches. His eyes meet Oikawa’s, a broad grin stretching Oikawa’s lips as the other boy strides over. 

“Tetsu-chan! You’re here!” Oikawa places his hands on his hips and winks. “Guess you came to see how it’s really done, hmm?” 

“Something like that,” Kuroo grumbles. Kuroo turns to Iwaizumi and stage whispers, “I swear if his ego was any bigger, it would have its own gravitational pull.”

Iwaizumi snickers. 

Oikawa’s about to head back towards his team when Iwaizumi rises to his feet. Iwaizumi jaw’s clenched, his voice gravely as he yells from the stands, “Oi, Ass-kawa—go out there and crush’em. yeah? For Seijou!”

Oikawa frowns, blinking hard before he nods in understanding and grins, his smile vulturine as he clenches his fist in his jersey shirt. “For Seijou.” 

He turns on his heel to rejoin his team, his shoulders straight and his head held high. 

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi mutters fondly under his breath. 

 

Kuroo had heard things about Seijou’s captain, ‘The Grand King,’ but seeing Oikawa play in person is another thing entirely. Each time Oikawa serves, Kuroo can feel everyone in the stands inhaling deeply, releasing an awed murmur when the ball’s finally whipped through the air with an astounding amount of force. 

“He’s incredible,” Kuroo observes, leaning against his folded arms. 

Iwaizumi tightens his grip on the railing and grunts out a ‘tch’ whenever he’s displeased with Oikawa’s ace. “Is it weird,” Kuroo asks, “watching from the stands when you’re so used to being on a team?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders slump as he flexes his fingers against the railing. “Shit, yeah, a little. Every time their rookie ace makes a mistake I can’t help but think—if it was me down there, I could have stopped it from happening; I could have fought harder to keep the ball in the air.” Iwaizumi barks out a laugh. “You must think I’m conceited, huh? It’s just such a hopeless feeling sitting up here in the stands. It pisses me off.”

Kuroo smiles, empathetic. He knows the feeling well from his first year of university when he’d visited Nekoma to watch their tournaments. 

“His team’s strong. _Oikawa’s_ strong. I don’t think you have to worry,” Kuroo reassures him. 

“I think you might be right,” Iwaizumi agrees, returning Kuroo’s smile. There’s a glint to his eyes as he cocks his head to the side. “You really like him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo breathes out, chin propped against his knuckles as he sighs. He chokes, a flush coloring his cheeks a second later when his registers what Iwaizumi’s question. Kuroo waves his hands in denial and stammers out, “What? _No_. That’s not—” 

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Eh? Yes or no? Which is it?”

“I,” Kuroo says, the tension slowly easing from his shoulders as he remembers that there’s no point in denying it, not to Iwaizumi, “Yeah, I do.”

“ _Good_.” Iwaizumi looks ahead and slaps Kuroo on the back. “You guys…you’re good together.” 

Kuroo coughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck as he tries to think of a way to subtly shift the topic away from his own love life. 

“ _So_ , Bokuto and Akaashi said they had a good time at the drive in theater the other night,” Kuroo mentions casually, suppressing a laugh when Iwaizumi’s lifts his head at the mention of them.

“Right! The movie was _super awesome_ ,” Iwaizumi confides, his face lighting up. “We went to see Godzilla. It’s uh—it’s my favorite movie. I wonder who gave them the idea.” He casts a look of suspicion towards Oikawa.

Kuroo chuckles. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. “Uh, about Bokuto and Akaashi.” He clears his throat, his cheeks turning pink and Kuroo can’t remember anymore why he’d ever been intimidated by the other boy. “Did they—did they say anything else about me?”

Kuroo arches an eyebrow at him, his lips crooking in a smirk. “Did you want me to pass along a note for you, Iwa-chan? Stick it in their locker before 3rd period?” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and teasingly elbows Kuroo. “You know, you and Oikawa might be the perfect match.” 

After a moment of deliberation, Kuroo ducks his head and responds, “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” 

Kuroo’s attention returns to where Oikawa’s setting up another serve. There’s sweat beading on Oikawa’s forehead and he must be tired from constantly having to dive for the ball, but he’s still smiling and joking with his teammates, patting their backs as he yells out words of encouragement. Oikawa’s clever, too, figuring out his opponent’s strategy quickly and producing a solution within only a few plays. 

The game concludes after two sets, Oikawa’s team having won both.

 

The last match of the prelims is drawn out and tense. Oikawa’s team loses the first set. Kuroo and Iwaizumi’s voices have gone hoarse from shouting, both their knuckles have gone white from clenching their hands around the railing so tight. 

The second set goes to Oikawa’s team, but only barely. In the last play, Oikawa dives for the ball, landing awkwardly on his ankle as he stumbles. He gets up, dusts himself off with a grin and rejoins the rest of his team who are waiting to give him congratulatory pats on the back. 

Third set is even closer, the two teams neck and neck as they narrowly manage to scrabble points from each other. Iwaizumi and Kuroo follow each back and forth movement with baited breaths until finally, one team gets the lead over the other. 

Oikawa’s team wins.

It’s a close call, 26 – 28, wih the crowd cheering loudly and Kuroo and Iwaizumi clutching at each other’s shoulders in excitement when the final point scored. Oikawa and his time line up in front of the stands, their eyes wet with tears as they bow and thank the crowd for their support. 

Kuroo and Iwaizumi rush down from the stands to greet Oikawa outside where his team would meet after the match.

They find Oikawa waiting outside the gymnasium, swarmed by a group of swooning girls. Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at the sight and releases a long-suffering sigh.

“Here we go again,” he groans, rolling up his sleeves. “Oi, hot shot, think you can spare a second or two for your friends?”

Oikawa grins and waves at Iwaizumi and Kuroo. “Iwa-chan! Tetsu-chan!” He murmurs an apology to the girls, placing a hand over his chest as he expresses how deeply sorry he is to be pulled away from his adoring his fans and then he makes his way towards them. 

“So, you’re going to nationals, huh?’ Iwaizumi chokes out. He presses his fist to Oikawa’s. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Ah, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hiccups out a sob and hugs him. “I’ll try to go easy on you next time we meet on the court.” 

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, grinds his knuckles down hair against Oikawa’s head. “Dumbass,” he chuckles before releasing his friend. 

Oikawa sniffs as he rubs at the sore spot Iwaizumi left. “Ugh. Barbaric as ever.” 

Kuroo glances towards where the girls are still crowded against the wall and watching them with interest. He leans forward, makes his voice breathy and high-pitched as he coos, “Hey, do you think I could get an autograph too, Oikawa? You’re just so pretty and charming.” He bats his lashes, tries his best to look sheepish. Kuroo smirks when he hears Iwaizumi snort behind him. 

“Both of you are terrible, just because I’m popular with the ladies, you know I can’t help it—” Kuroo cuts Oikawa off with a soft kiss, his hand lifting to cup the side of Oikawa’s face as he presses their foreheads together. 

Iwaizumi’s laughter turns into low retching sounds. Iwaizumi squeezes Oikawa on the shoulder in a parting gesture before making himself scarce. 

“You won,” Kuroo says, sounding breathless after only a chaste kiss. 

Oikawa chases after him, kissing Kuroo with force this time as he winds his arms around Kuroo’s neck. He doesn’t seem bothered by the nearby audience of devastated fangirls. “God, yeah—yeah I did. Do you want to go back to yours to celebrate?” He tugs Kuroo closer, sucking Kuroo’s lip in encouragement.

“Sounds perfect.”

~*~

“Roommates?” Oikawa implores, his jaw brushing against Kuroo’s neck teasingly, warm breath fanning against Kuroo’s skin as the two of them stumble back against the door. Oikawa hair’s still damp with sweat from the match; his eyes hooded and unfocused as he presses Kuroo up against the door with his whole body before bringing their lips together. 

“Gone,” Kuroo tells Oikawa. Sighing softly into the kiss, Kuroo curls his fingers in the collar of Oikawa’s shirt, his other hand lifting to rest his thumb against the underside of Oikawa’s chin. “Bokuto’s got class and Akaashi has a late shift. Neither of them will be home for hours.”

Oikawa nods, his brown eyes gleaming. Their lips meet again in a rough slide as Oikawa pulls Kuroo’s belt through the loops, the belt dropping to the floor beside them when Oikawa raises his other hand to cup the side of Kuroo’s face. 

“No reason to wait then,” Oikawa murmurs, his breath warm against Kuroo’s neck. Oikawa sucks on Kuroo’s lower lip a little, sweeping it into his mouth as he slides his other hand through Kuroo’s hair. 

Kuroo wants this, arches his chest as Oikawa’s trembling hands make hasty work of the buttons on Kuroo’s shirt. He would be entirely onboard with Oikawa’s plan to disrobe as quickly as possible if he hadn’t noticed the slight strain the tournament had put on Oikawa’s body, the other boy leaning his weight onto Kuroo as they kiss slow and deep. 

“Or rush,” Kuroo points out, pulling away slightly, steadying Oikawa with his hand. 

He catches Oikawa’s wrist and lifts the other boy’s hand to his mouth, his lips slowly brushing along the folds of Oikawa’s knuckles as his smile curves into a grin. Oikawa’s mouth slackens, his darkening eyes tracking the movement when Kuroo presses a soft kiss to the outer side of Oikawa’s hand. 

“I made us sweet curry, dinner of champions,” Kuroo informs him. His voice is surprisingly level as he rubs his thumb in soothing circles against Oikawa’s wrist. 

Oikawa’s eyebrows shoot up, his smile turning mischievous. “Oh? And if we hadn’t won?”

“Consolation curry,” Kuroo answers loftily before leading Oikawa into the kitchen by his wrist. 

Oikawa makes a noise of disgust. “Gross. It’s a good thing we didn’t lose then. I’m not in the mood for pity curry or pity sex.”

Kuroo’s grin falters slightly at the mention of sex, his arms catching his weight as he leans back against the kitchen counter. His mouth goes painfully dry as he swallows. It’s selfish, maybe, to hope that Oikawa’s here for Kuroo’s stellar company rather, he’d fucked up the moment he wanted anything from Oikawa beyond a hookup, and yet Kuroo clings to that thin straw anyway.  
“Who said anything about sex just yet?” he asks, keeping his voice carefully casual. 

Oikawa arches a brow in question. “Tetsurou—”

“I thought you liked dragging things out,” Kuroo teases, wiggling his brows for effect. 

Oikawa gapes at him. “Are you comparing curry with foreplay?” 

“Both are best when savored, don’t you think?” 

Oikawa narrows his eyes at Kuroo but seems to at least be considering the compromise. “Fine,” Oikawa answers in defeat. “Food first, _then_ victory sex.” 

“Food first,” Kuroo agrees. He amends, “and then a bath. And _then_ sex.”

Oikawa’s nose scrunches adorably; his eyes crinkling at the corners at Kuroo tugs open the fridge to retrieve their dinner. “Why’s that part of tonight’s plan?” Oikawa demands. 

“Cause you _smell_ ,” Kuroo tells him kindly, squeezing Oikawa’s nose between his thumb and forefinger as he brushes past on his way to put their bowls of curry in the microwave. 

~*~  
Half an hour later when they’re finished eating and Oikawa’s making a beeline for the bedroom, Kuroo pulls him into the bathroom. 

“Bath first, remember?” Kuroo chides.

Oikawa frowns. His gaze flits between Kuroo and the bathtub. “You were serious.”

“Of course I was,” Kuroo says. He sits down on edge of the tub and he twists the tap on. “I never joke about proper hygiene. How do you feel about bubbles?” 

Oikawa strokes his thumb over his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Neutral.” 

Kuroo nods seriously and drains the rest of the bubble soap into the filling tub as Oikawa sits down beside him. 

“I could just shower instead, you know. We could shower _together_ ,” Oikawa suggests, his voice coming out a rumbly purr and for a moment Kuroo considers it. 

“Counterproductive.” And a waste of bubbles. 

“Cause of the mess?” Oikawa guesses, long eyelashes fluttering as he traces his fingers along the lines of Kuroo’s exposed collar.

“Nah,” Kuroo dips his hand down into the tub and flicks the water at Oikawa, “its ‘cause you need to take a _break_.” He turns off the tap. “There’s no need for you to over-exert yourself after a big game like that.” 

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, his eyes widening in realization. “That’s what _this_ is about?” Oikawa asks, gestured to the bathtub. “You’re worried about me.”

Oikawa’s lips begin part in a half-formed protest when Kuroo hauls him in by the waist, Kuroo’s hand wetting Oikawa’s shirt as Kuroo pulls at the jersey’s hem. “ _Yep_ , now get undressed, the water’s ready.” 

“Finally, things are moving in the right direction,” Oikawa murmurs as he stands and lifts his volleyball jersey over his head. “Aren’t you going to join me, Tetsu-chan?”

Kuroo smirks, his eyes roving over Oikawa’s bare chest, watching in interest as the muscles of Oikawa’s abdomen shift when the other boy stretches his arms above his head. 

“If I do, will you stop putting up a fuss?” 

Oikawa tilts his hips forward and slides his shorts down to knees before stepping out of them. “I’ll consider it.” 

With a quiet laugh, Kuroo sheds his jeans and boxers. He bites down on his lip as Oikawa makes a show of slowly lowering himself down into the bubble bath. When Oikawa’s made room for him, the other boy curling his knees against his chest, Kuroo slowly gets in after him. 

Oikawa watches him, a contemplative expression on his face as the bubbles pool around him. Usually silence between them is comforting but Kuroo can hear Oikawa thinking from the other side of the bathtub and Kuroo’s trying to mentally will his racing heart to calm down. 

“What’s with you today, hmm?” Oikawa asks, resting his chin on Kuroo’s knee. His eyebrows draw together. 

Kuroo reaches down until he finds Oikawa’s hands, lacing their fingers together in the murky water. “Hey, I’m always this nice,” he confides, a sly grin gracing his lips. 

Oikawa laughs and Kuroo can feel it against his skin. He glances up again, his face serious when Kuroo leans in, capturing Oikawa’s lips in a distracting kiss. 

“It’s snug in here,” Oikawa observes when their knees bump together. 

Kuroo pats the bubbles in front of him and instructs, “C’mere. It’s easier this way.”

Oikawa complies with shockingly little argument, shifting his position so that his back’s pressed against Kuroo’s front, their legs entangled. A little bit of water spills over the sides of the tub but Kuroo can’t bring himself to care as he wraps his arms loosely around Oikawa’s waist. “Better?” he breathes over Oikawa’s ear. 

“Better,” Oikawa confirms. Oikawa shivers and sags back against him as Kuroo lowers his mouth to skirt his lips along the underside of Oikawa’s jaw. “Mmm, _much_ better.”

Kuroo laughs softly and smooth his hands down Oikawa’s legs, the tips of his fingers digging in as he massages the smooth skin. He clucks his tongue in disapproval at the bruises swelling across the knobs of Oikawa’s knees. “Reckless,” he says, tsking. “You’re gonna injure yourself if you’re not more careful.”

He can feel Oikawa tense against him as the other boy squares his shoulders and turns slightly so that they can see each other. Oikawa’s brown eyes are steely, his lips pursed in a thin smile. “ _Iwa-chan_ called. He wants his mother-hen routine back.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re starting to sound just like him,” Oikawa accuses. 

“Oh yeah?” Kuroo gives Oikawa his most prickly expression, lowering his voice an octave as he says, “Don’t forget to eat your vegetables, Shittykawa.” 

Oikawa’s mouth falls open in surprise. He stares for a moment before tossing his head back and barking out a laugh. “Oh my god, never do that again.” 

A lazy smile flits across Kuroo’s lips as he tilts his head down to trail lingering kisses between Oikawa’s shoulder blades and across the dip of his spine, his fingers curling idly in the damp hair matted along the nape of Oikawa’s neck. 

Oikawa sighs luxuriously, arching as Kuroo kisses the dip of his spine. “I _missed_ this.” Oikawa reaches for the shampoo and squirts a dollop onto his palm. 

Kuroo ducks his head down to give Oikawa better access to his hair and says, “We saw each other a few days ago.”

“You know what I mean,” Oikawa admonishes and turns towards Kuroo. He grins as he dips his fingers into Kuroo’s wet hair. Kuroo’s not sure what he expected, maybe the firm press of Oikawa’s fingers against his scalp, but instead Oikawa’s licking his own lips in concentration, his eyes bright with amusement as he strokes Kuroo’s hair up between his sudsy palms. 

“Attractive,” Oikawa croons. “You’ve never looked better, _Rooster-chan_.”

Kuroo knows without looking that his hair’s sticking upright in a straight line

“Again, with the hair?” Kuroo squeezes the shampoo onto his own open hand, his lips twitching at Oikawa’s self-satisfied expression. And then, without heat, “Get out of my bathtub.” 

“Tetsu-chan, _no_!” Oikawa squeaks, his hands shielding his face as Kuroo surges forward.

Kuroo cackles and roughly rubs the shampoo into Oikawa’s hair in retaliation, slicking up handfuls of Oikawa’s hair as he sprays Oikawa until he’s giggling and squirms in Kuroo’s grip. 

“ _Mercy_ ,” Oikawa pants and Kuroo can’t help the feeling of deja vu that washes over him as he drops his hand, letting the spray brush the suds from Oikawa’s lean shoulders. “So _ruthless_. It’s unbecoming, you know.” 

Kuroo smirks, whistling low as he admires the way Oikawa’s hair is sticking up in every direction. “Now there’s a good look for you.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and splays his hands across Kuroo’s thighs. He turns his head and smiles coyly, somehow managing not to look ridiculous even with that hairstyle. “Oi, are you going to gloat, or you going to help me rinse my hair? I’m so _overworked_ , after all. I can’t be expected to do these things on my own.” He shimmies his shoulders for effect. 

Kuroo rolls his eyes in return but he lifts the spray again, this time kneading his fingers through the soft hair with purpose, the other boy releasing a soft gasp or quiet groan whenever Kuroo applies pressure. “All done. I think we can get out now. You’re turning into a raisin,” Kuroo informs Oikawa.

“I am _not_ ,” Oikawa says haughtily, propping his hands against both sides of the tub as he lifts himself out, “my skin’s immune to such things.” 

Kuroo snickers and follows him out of the tub, catching the towel Oikawa tosses him with one hand. “If you say so.” 

“I don’t even have any of my hair products here,” Oikawa whines as he dries off with a towel. 

“No worries, we’ll just turn the lights off then.” 

Oikawa shoots him a scathing glare. 

Kuroo lifts his hands in apology and says with flourish, “I’m kidding! You look as handsome as _ever_.” Kuroo takes the towel from Oikawa’s hands and ruffles the Oikawa’s hair with it as he presses a kiss to Oikawa’s cheek. “You good?” 

Eyes sharp and calculating, Oikawa pouts and places a hand on Kuroo’s hip, steadying himself. “I don’t know. I’m just so tired, I don’t think I have the strength to walk,” Oikawa says with a pitiful sigh. 

“I guess I’ll just have to carry you then,” Kuroo says, huffing out a laugh before lifting Oikawa over his shoulder. He winces at the weight of the other boy, but it’s worth it as Oikawa swats at his back. 

“Hey, not what I meant, Tetsu-chan, I demand you---” Oikawa pauses. “On second thought, _hello_ ,” murmurs Oikawa to Kuroo’s bare ass. 

For the moment, Kuroo decides it’s in his best interest to ignore Oikawa’s hands smoothing down along his back with purpose as Kuroo makes his way to the bedroom. “Keep groping me like that, and I’m going to end up bumping into a wall.” 

He hears Oikawa laugh behind him, the sound high and heedless. “Ah, I trust you to take care of me,” Oikawa says with mock-seriousness, squeezing Kuroo’s ass in his palm as Kuroo carries him past the threshold of his room. 

“Good,” Kuroo grunts, setting Oikawa down onto the bed with a smirk. “Cause that was the plan. Lay back for me.” 

“What…” Oikawa licks his lips. His pupils are blown, cheeks high with color as he watches Kuroo settle between his legs. “Oh. _Oh_.” 

Leaning over Oikawa, Kuroo slowly presses open mouthed kisses along his neck, his nails lightly scrapping down the bow of Oikawa’s shoulders when as he lowers his voice and says, “Just sit back and let me do the work.”

Oikawa makes a strangled, offended noise like he’s just been asked to do the impossible. 

Kuroo tilts his head and nips lightly at Oikawa’s jaw. Palms splaying out across Oikawa’s ribs, he feels out the familiar grooves and ridges of muscle beneath the pads of his fingers, occasionally pressing in just to hear Oikawa’s answering groans. He takes his time with it, drawing things out as if they have all the time in the world. There’s a flush arcing across Oikawa’s sharp cheekbones, staining them pink as Kuroo ducks down to traces his tongue in a languid path along Oikawa’s stomach. 

Next, he crouches between Oikawa’s legs and spreads them apart at the knees as he drags his lips along the inner side of Oikawa’s thighs, slow and torturous, exactly the way Oikawa always is with him. 

“ _Christ_ , Tooru,” Kuroo mutters, admiringly. 

Kuroo doesn’t make any new marks this time; instead his lips are gentle against the abused skin, thumbs drawing loose patterns against Oikawa’s hipbones as the other boy smooths his hands down Kuroo’s forearms. 

“Tetsurou,” Oikawa says, his voice saccharine sweet. “Are you planning on fucking me anytime soon? Or should I start without you?” 

“And you accuse _me_ of being impatient,” Kuroo remarks. An affectionate smile upturns his lips as he presses a lingering kiss to Oikawa’s knee. 

Oikawa buries his face in the crook of his arm. “Ugh, you’re embarrassing me.”

Choosing to ignore Oikawa’s griping, Kuroo leans over Oikawa and reaches into his nightstand, the drawer left open from the last time they’d done this. A moment later Kuroo produces a half-empty bottle of lube and a condom. Kuroo opens the bottle with one hand, pouring a liberal amount of the clear liquid onto his fingers before twisting the lid shut and setting it aside. 

“Can’t I at least—”

“Nope.” Kuroo reaches behind himself, pushing his finger into his own entrance as Oikawa’s obvious erection brushes against his stomach. A hiss escapes Kuroo’s lips, the sensation teetering between pain and pleasure when he slides a finger alongside the first. He works his fingers in and out, nearly regretting not taking Oikawa on his offer when his fingers only graze over the bundle of nerves that are usually enough to have him grasping at the sheets. Still, the heated look Oikawa gives him is worth it—Oikawa’s gaze unwavering, his teeth sinking into the plushness of his own bottom lip as he watches Kuroo stretch himself. 

“Fuck, Tetsurou, let me—god, I _need_ to touch you.” Their lips slot together, Oikawa’s tongue tracing a smooth path across Kuroo’s upper lip as they rut together. 

“Almost,” Kuroo soothes, smirking. Withdrawing his fingers, he rises up on his knees until he’s straddling Oikawa’s lap. His pulse thunders as he aligns Oikawa’s length with his entrance. He spreads his legs a little and then sinks down slowly, his mouth dropping open as he groans at the stretch of it. “Don’t you dare move.” 

Oikawa scoffs. He raises his eyebrows as if to say, _duh_. 

Fingers skims over Kuroo’s waist and then down the back of his thighs, Oikawa’s touch is a welcomed distraction as Kuroo eases himself down until he’s fully seated on Oikawa’s length. 

“Hah, okay just--” Kuroo braces his hands on Oikawa’s chest, grounding himself before rocking slowly. He then shifts up onto his knees, head tipping back as heat winds down his spine and zips along his trembling thighs. Oikawa’s knuckles are white where his hands are fisting in the sheets, clearly not unaffected. Kuroo grinds his hips down in a slow and teasing manner, working up to a steady rhythm as Oikawa’s hands settle at Kuroo’s sides. “Fuck.”

For all his coddling, Kuroo’s just as guilty of pushing himself past his limits. He needs _more_ , doesn't have the patience to wait for it. Each languid roll of his hips has Oikawa panting out hot breaths against Kuroo’s shoulder, the hands flexing against Kuroo’s thighs, urging him to forward. Kuroo sucks his lip between his teeth and works his hips, harder, faster setting an unforgiving pace as before catching Oikawa’s lips with a searing kiss. 

It’s messy and frenzied; the two of them panting harshly into each other’s mouths as their lips press together but fuck, it’s good. Kuroo slumps over Oikawa, sweat-slick hands gripping the headboard as he rides him hard, his body starting to tense as each thrust pushes a Oikawa’s length a little deeper.

“You know, I think I like _this_ look on you even better,” Oikawa murmurs, voice rough and breathy. His thumb strokes across Kuroo’s bottom lip. “You should come to my matches more often.”

Oikawa says it thoughtlessly, like maybe he’s forgotten this thing between them is fleeting, like maybe he’s changed his mind. Like maybe he doesn’t want this to end either. Kuroo isn’t given time to process that, his breath catching in his throat when Oikawa suddenly arches his hips and drives up into him. 

“Fuck— _Tooru_ , thought I told you to stay still.” 

Oikawa’s doe brown eyes are dark and hooded as he smiles slyly. “Did you?” He rocks his hips forward again, firm and deliberate. “Funny, I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Kuroo his knees tighten against Oikawa’s thighs, reflexive. He pushes back against Oikawa’s thrusts to meet him halfway as punched-out grunts and raspy sighs spill from their lips. They’re being even louder than usual, the sound echoing off the walls, but nobody’s here to complain about the unabashed string of muttered cusses or the obnoxious squeak of the bedsprings as Oikawa’s pressed down against the mattress with every shove of Kuroo’s hips. Kuroo tenses on a soft breath, eyes wide in surprise when Oikawa’s cock brushes against his prostate. 

“Bastard,” Kuroo gasps raggedly. “Hng, again—Tooru, _please_.” 

“So polite, Tetsu-can,” Oikawa hums, the corners of his lips upturned in amusement. His nails bite at Kuroo’s hips as he angles for that spot once, twice. “Good?”

Kuroo nods desperately and muffles his grunts against his fist. He knows that Oikawa likes him loud, hungrily drinks in every gratifying whimper and sob that he can draw from Kuroo, but this time’s different. It’s dangerous, as Oikawa’s mouth falls open on a shuddered groan, his lips pink and shiny, a splotchy flush spreading across the arc of his bare torso and Kuroo can only barely bite back on damning words from slipping from his own lips like _shit, you’re gorgeous_ , or _Tooru, oh god, s’good we should, fuck—date_. He can’t say any of that, not unless he’s willing to risk losing this, so instead he sucks on the inside of his cheek and smooths his hands down along Oikawa’s shaking thighs. 

Oikawa tucks his face against Kuroo’s neck, heels digging into the bedspread, and it’s both the best thing and the worst, having him like this. Oikawa’s hand fist in Kuroo’s hair as the length of him grinds against all the right places, his body is warm and familiar beneath Kuroo’s and fuck, it’s nearly perfect. It _would_ be, if Kuroo didn’t want him so badly his chest aches with it.

Kuroo pants out Oikawa’s name and bears down, hips rolling forward faster, faster, until Oikawa’s clings to him, until can he can feel Oikawa’s hands scrambling for purchase at his sides. Oikawa must sense that he’s close too, because he wraps a calloused palm around Kuroo’s cock and starts to stroke in time with their erratic thrusts. Tension’s starting to build along Kuroo’s spine, his back stiffening into and arch as his body’s pulled taut like a bow. It’s going to be over too fast, too soon. Their rhythm falls apart, Kuroo’s dick jerking in Oikawa’s firm, coaxing grip as he chokes out a strained warning and convulses around him. 

His entire body shudders from the splintering jolts of overstimulation as Oikawa continues to work him through his orgasm with rough pulls even after Kuroo’s spilled across Oikawa’s fingers. Oikawa still hasn’t come yet so Kuroo keeps dragging his hips forward, interlaces their fingers as he kisses Oikawa on the forehead, and then on his neck, and then on the corner of his mouth, anywhere Kuroo can reach. “C’mon, Tooru, come for me,” Kuroo urges and a moment later Oikawa does.

Kuroo can feel it as Oikawa comes. Oikawa’s hands hold Kuroo’s tight and his mouth stretches on a soft plea as his body seizes up. They stay like that for a while; their fingers curled together, Kuroo’s face buried in Oikawa’s neck as he feels the heavy heave of Oikawa’s chest pressed against his own. Eventually, Kuroo eases himself off, takes a moment before he can stand up again. 

“You shouldn’t overexert yourself, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa says teasingly as Kuroo lifts onto shaky legs to fetches a towel. “You’re going to be sore tomorrow.” 

It’s worth it, Kuroo decides, smile soft and fond as he wipes them both down. With a sigh, Kuroo climbs back onto the bed and tucks himself against Oikawa’s body, cheek against his bare shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist. 

“I don’t think I have the energy to move,” Oikawa complains. 

“Then don’t,” Kuroo answers. He traces lazy patterns against Oikawa’s ribs, his own breathing suddenly feeling too harsh and loud in the small room as he tries not to say anything that’ll give him away. “Stay the night.” _Please_. He hates that he has to ask. 

Oikawa shifts against him, unsure. Kuroo can’t see him in the dark but he can imagine the emotions playing out across the other boy’s face. Finally, Oikawa settles again and yawns out a quiet, “M’kay.” 

Kuroo only barely suppresses a sigh of relief. He lets his eyes fall shut, his chest lighter at the thought of waking up with Oikawa curled against him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey sleepyhead,” Oikawa greets Kuroo in the morning, a soft smile on his face as he strokes his fingers across Kuroo’s hip.

“Hmmm,” Kuroo answers eloquently.

Unbothered by Kuroo’s lack of response, Oikawa props his chin against Kuroo’s chest and asks, “Have you seen my stuff? I have an early practice and I can’t find my jersey.”

Kuroo winces, his thoughts still muddled by exhaustion and sleep, but the feeling of Oikawa’s fingers trailing down along his stomach grounds him. Belatedly, he remembers that he’d put them in a drawer in his dresser with the rest of clothes Oikawa had left at his place over the past few weeks. He points in his dresser’s direction and then lets his eyes fall closed again.

 

Kuroo wakes again later with a lazy smile as he remembers that Oikawa had slept over the night before. The pillow beside his smells of Oikawa’s lavender shampoo. His lashes flutter in confusion when he can’t feel the warmth of Oikawa’s body pressed against his side. He slides his palms across the sheets and realizes with a sinking feeling that Oikawa’s half of the bed’s empty.

Kuroo groans and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands.

When his eyes adjust, Kuroo sees Oikawa kneeling by his dresser drawer, its contents disassembled, Oikawa’s hoodies and shirts from previous visits folded into neat piles.

Voice still rough from sleep, Kuroo murmurs, “G’morning?”

Oikawa looks from the shirts to Kuroo, his expression complicated. “I have a drawer.”

“I told you when you first started borrowing my clothes that I’d set your stuff aside,” Kuroo points out cautiously. And then, because Kuroo’s determined to avoid arguing about this, he pats the still-warm spot on the bed next to him. “Come back to bed.”

“Kuroo. I have a _drawer_ ,” Oikawa repeats. He’s watching Kuroo with a new sense of awareness, his eyes narrowing as he smooths his hands down his face. “How long have you—have _we?_ ” he demands, sounding half hysterical.

Oh.

Oh, Fuck.

They’re having _that_ conversation, only Kuroo’s entirely unprepared for it, evidenced both by his state of total nudity and by the fact his lips haven’t been able to form a single coherent word since Oikawa pointed out the shirts and the maybe-not-so-pretend dating. 

This can’t be happening.

Kuroo hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet.

“It’s just a drawer,” he tries. And it is, really. Except that that, too, feels like a lie in a long series of other lies; it’s just sex, it’s just a kiss, it’s just breakfast, it’s just a dialed and then aborted phone call at 3 a.m. in the morning because I missed your voice. In that same way, it’s just a drawer.

“ _Sure_ ,” Oikawa says, his voice coming out harsh and mean as he laughs. He shakes his head. “What are we doing? This? Us? Who are we kidding anymore?”

It should be some sort of relief, to hear Oikawa finally admit something’s changed between them but it’s not. Oikawa says it likes it’s a death sentence, like they somehow fucked up, which isn’t—

“Tooru,” Kuroo soothes, in part to ease his own nerves as he pats the sheets beside him again.

No, it’s fine.

Kuroo can still salvage this.

Oikawa picks at the skin at the corners of his nails and then says with a sense of finality, “It’s been over three weeks now. I think we should end this.”

Shit.

Just like that, the air’s been knocked from Kuroo’s lungs. Logically…logically Kuroo understood that they were going to break up eventually, that what they have would end but he hadn’t realized until now how tightly he’d been holding onto the hope that it just. Wouldn’t have to.

Oikawa’s already starting to collect his sweaters into his arms. Bottom lip trembling, Kuroo rakes his brain for something, anything he could say that could convince Oikawa to stay here with him. He comes up short. “Tooru, _please_ ,” Kuroo whispers hoarsely. “Don’t do this.”

“I shouldn’t have slept over. That was. That was a mistake.” The words hit Kuroo like a slap. Oikawa crosses the room and Kuroo’s too paralyzed to do anything but watch. “I shouldn’t have ever let things get so—I’m sorry. I need to leave.”

It’s only when Oikawa’s closed the bedroom door behind him that the panic finally sets in, spurring Kuroo into action. He stumbles out of bed, pulls on a pair of boxers, nearly tripping over them before he sets out after Oikawa.

“Wait, wait,” Kuroo says, his voice teetering on desperation when he catches up to the other boy. His breath comes out labored like he’s been running for hours rather than seconds as he curls his fingers around Oikawa’s wrist. “Tooru. Hold on, _just_.”

Oikawa stops, but refuses to meet his gaze.

It’s like Oikawa’s been on autopilot ever since he found the drawer and Kuroo doesn’t know what to do or say to snap him out of it—to get Oikawa to _look_ at him. There’s something off about Oikawa’s carefully guarded expression, about the stiff way he’s holding carrying himself, and Kuroo knows him enough to sense that there’s something he’s not saying. 

If Oikawa wants Kuroo back, if he’s just scared, Kuroo can still _fix_ this. 

Kuroo stands in front of the door. He studies Oikawa, his eyes imploring. “If you don’t have feelings for me, if you really don’t want this, then that’s fine. I can accept that. I’ll move on. Or you know, try to, at least. But if you care about me, too…if there’s a part of you that feels that what we have is real—don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to at least give it a chance?”

Oikawa blinks at the confession, mouth parting in surprise. For a heartbeat, Kuroo thinks that he’s gotten through to Oikawa but then the other boy’s frowning again, his resolve only strengthening as breaks free of Kuroo’s grip. 

“And do what, just trust that everything will work out fine? I didn’t ask for this! This wasn’t what I…I was perfectly happy, before. We were going to break up and it was going to be so simple and uncomplicated but now I have a _drawer_! It’s my own fault for letting this become something it isn’t. I can’t _do_ this,” Oikawa snaps. “So don’t ask me to.” 

And then Oikawa’s kissing him, his thumb arcing across Kuroo’s cheek, lips pressing roughly against Kuroo’s. His smile is rueful and jagged when they break apart. “Goodbye, Tetsu-chan.”

He steps around Kuroo and turns the door’s knob, casting a final look over his shoulder before clicking the door shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment. 

Oikawa’s left, taking everything Kuroo had of his with him. 

Kuroo walks back to his room in a daze. With numb fingers, he digs his phone out of the pocket of the pants he wore yesterday and texts Bokuto.

~*~

“Hey, hey, hey! You in here? I brought the provisions!” Bokuto announces. He shoulders through the half-open door, a case of beer in hand.

Groaning in greeting, Kuroo raises a hand and waves limply from where he’s sprawled out on the floor. Bokuto’s expression morphs from one of excitement to one of legitimate concern as his eyes narrow in on Kuroo.

“I’d ask if we were celebrating or grieving, but I guess I know the answer.” Bokuto shrugs off his jacket and lies down on the floor next to Kuroo, his hand cold as he passes Kuroo a beer. He cringes at the pitiful music blaring from Kuroo’s iPod. “Gotye? _Really_ , man? You couldn’t find a more current breakup song?”

Kuroo raises the bottle to his lips and sniffs, “It was _fitting_.”

Bokuto knocks their shoulders together. “You and Oikawa, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo answers, his voice rough as gravel. And then a moment later, “No. Sort of? I mean, we weren’t,” he releases a shaky breath, “we weren’t ever dating.” Maybe he shouldn’t be telling Bokuto, after all, it defeats the whole purpose... But Kuroo’s angry and sad and tired of lying.

Bokuto’s eyes widen in alarm. He reaches over and squeezes Kuroo’s face between his hands. “Akaashi, come quick! Kuroo’s lost his memory!” Bokuto shouts. He brings their foreheads together and urges, “Hey, hey, Listen to me. Focus. I’m Koutarou. We’ve been friends since we were kids. _Your_ name is Tetsurou—”

Akaashi saves Kuroo from having to respond when he materializes beside the doorframe a moment later, his arms folded across his chest. “Bokuto-san, quit it.” Akaashi sighs. “He doesn’t have amnesia. They were only pretending to date. I’m guessing Oikawa-san ended it.”

Bokuto releases Kuroo’s face. His gaze jerks between them as his winged brows pull together. “…Pretending?”

Kuroo and Akaashi fill him in.

“But you do have feelings for him, though?” Bokuto confirms.

Kuroo makes a pained noise.

“And he has feelings for you?” 

Floundering for the right words, Kuroo realizes he doesn’t actually know the answer because Oikawa hadn’t given him one. 

“Maybe,” Kuroo considers. His lips twist in a scowl as he remembers the confusing, uncertain way things had been left between them. “I don’t…I don’t know.” 

“It looked pretty damn mutual to me. You two were like, relationship goals,” Bokuto says with conviction. 

_Or maybe Oikawa’s just that good at pretending_ , Kuroo thinks sourly. But what about the times there had been nobody there to pretend for? Kuroo closes his eyes, remembers the warmth of lips tracing across his wrist. 

But if Oikawa felt the same way, why leave? But if he didn’t, then why—Kuroo chases this line of thought in circles as he tilts the bottle back to his lips and drinks. The beer tastes crappy, because it’s _beer_ but by now, the buzz’s nearly set in; the soothing heat trickles through him, its warmth filling the hollow crevice in his chest.

Akaashi takes a seat on the floor beside them. “Kuroo-san, did you tell him how you felt?”

Kuroo’s frown deepens. “Yes! I mean I—I think so? I’m pretty sure. At least 99% certain.” The exact details of that morning are a little fuzzy. Partially because Kuroo’s been drinking, and partially because he really, really doesn’t want to think about it. 

Akaashi listens with thinly veiled judgement.

“Oikawa knew, okay? There was a drawer. He _knew_ how I felt and he still left. Because he doesn’t want me—because he’s afraid he does? I don’t know.” Kuroo inhales shakily, his eyes stinging with tears. “Fuck, what kind of person does that? Just…leaves, breaks things off after making love the night before—”

Akaashi grimaces at the term ‘love making.’ “ _Kuroo-san_.”

“Oi, let the man finish! He just got his heart decimated.” Bokuto nods encouragingly.

Kuroo buries his face in the crook of his elbow. “It’s just so stupid. I never should have agreed. I never should have let myself get caught up in it but _I did_. And now…now, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, you know? Or mowed down by one of tractors they have in the countryside. Everything just _sucks_.”

Oikawa hasn’t even called once since he’d stormed out. Not that Kuroo’s ready to talk to him or that he’d even know what to say, but it’s an infuriating thing to be denied of, at the very least, the petty satisfaction of dodging Oikawa’s calls.

Beside Kuroo, Bokuto makes a choked noise.

“Fuck, why are you crying?”

“Sympathetic crier,” Bokuto replies, rubbing his teary eyes. He swallows hard and clinks their bottles together, the two of them taking another swig of beer when Kuroo’s iPod switches to the next song.

_Mmm, what you say? Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did._

Bokuto barks out a surprised laugh. “Dude.”

“It’s an old playlist, okay?” Kuroo grumbles.

“Let him be, Bokuto-san. If this is what he needs in order to get through this, we should be supportive.”

“ _Thank_ you, Akaashi.”

“Even if his coping method involves outdated English pop music,” Akaashi continues.

“….Thank you, Akaashi.”

They stay like for a while, all three of them quiet as they listen to Kuroo’s iPod cycle through shitty breakup anthems until Bokuto disturbs the silence between them.

“Hey, uh.” Bokuto fidgets with the strings on his hoodie. “Did you want us to break up with Iwaizumi? Because it’s sort of awkward, with everything that’s happened between you and Oikawa, and I’d understand if you wanted us to. I mean I’d miss his bad jokes and his shy smiles and his beautiful _arms_... but I could. If that’s what you wanted.”

“Nah. You guys are good for each other. I don’t wanna mess with that.” Besides, causing Bokuto to go into dejected mode wouldn’t do anyone good. Kuroo smiles weakly. 

Bokuto smiles back, his shoulders slumping in relief. “That’s good. ‘Cause I think I might really like him.”

“We’re not going to stop seeing Iwaizumi just because Oikawa-san’s being a jerk,” Akaashi declares, his words clipped. His eyes narrow like he’s already plotting Oikawa’s demise.

Kuroo bites back a grin.

“Is there anything we can do?” Bokuto asks.

Kuroo bites his lip and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Eventually. I just need to—wallow? For a little bit, at least.”

“Box up everything he’s left here, burn some pictures?” Bokuto suggests, eyes glinting at his last suggestion.

Eyes stinging, Kuroo recalls that there’s nothing left of Oikawa’s to box up, nothing left of Oikawa’s that still smells like him. 

Akaashi’s eyes widen in horror. “Bokuto-san, don’t even think about starting a fire.”

“I was thinking I’d just _delete_ the pictures off my phone,” Kuroo tells them. Eventually. When he’s feeling strong enough to stomach looking at the pictures of them together. 

Bokuto snorts and stretches his arms above his head. “Good call. Alright, if we’re going to spend the rest of the night lying on your floor, I’m going to have to at least break out my Adelle. 2015 Adelle, not 2011 Adelle.” Bokuto lifts to his feet.

“You’re a good friend!” Kuroo calls out as he watches Bokuto leave the room. Kuroo’s throat feels as dry and grated as sandpaper as he worries his lip between his teeth. He pushes his fingers through his disheveled hair as he stares up at the ceiling and wonders how he got here. Not ‘here’ as in lying on his bedroom floor, but _here_ in the larger sense. How did he let things get this far? How did he kid himself into thinking he could stay unattached? That he could avoid the inevitable?

_You don’t do things like that_ , he reminds himself. _You don’t let yourself love recklessly._

This is why.

He turns his head to the side when he feels Akaashi’s gaze on his face. “I mean it. I’ll be okay. You guys don’t have to worry about me.” That’d possibly sound more convincing if he were wearing pants.

“I don’t doubt that, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says. “I just don’t want to see you torture yourself playing the ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ game. If he feels that way about you, give him time. He’ll come back.”

Kuroo swallows thickly. His stomach churns. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s done you a favor,” Akaashi answers. “You’re free to fall for someone else, someone who wants the same things as you.”

So that’s Kuroo’s only option then. 

Give Oikawa space. 

Maybe he’ll come back. 

Maybe he won’t. 

Kuroo doesn’t have to wait for Oikawa. But he already knows with a resigned certainty that he will anyway. 

~*~

A week later, Bokuto barrels into Kuroo’s room and greets him with a boisterous, “Hey, hey, hey Kur _ooooo_!”

“Feh, what did we say about knocking?” Kuroo swivels around on his chair, slamming his laptop shut.

“That I definitely should,” Bokuto recites, his smile wavering for only a moment. He places a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder. “How’ya holdin’ up in here?”

Kuroo makes an abortive noise. 

He’s not okay, not really. Not yet, at least. 

“S’fine. Besides the cortisol and epinephrine flooding my brain, everything’s good.”

Surprisingly, Bokuto doesn’t balk at the mention of Science. Instead, he eyes Kuroo’s laptop skeptically and asks, “Oi, what were you looking at? Before I came in?”

“Porn,” Kuroo says hastily. “The weird kind, tentacle stuff—hey don’t!”

Bokuto ignores him, reaches over Kuroo’s shoulder and flips open Kuroo’s laptop. He looks between Kuroo and the screen. “Look. I’m not judging.” 

Except that he clearly is. And Kuroo can’t really blame him. 

On the screen is a picture of Kuroo and Oikawa that they’d taken two weeks after they’d started their arrangement. In the picture, they’re wearing matching grins; their red noses pressed together, Oikawa’s fingers curled in Kuroo’s red scarf. They’re not even kissing, but they look _happy_ , caught mid-laugh and it makes Kuroo’s chest ache to look at it. 

Kuroo sighs wistfully. “I miss him, Bo.”

And he does. He misses Oikawa curling his fingers through Kuroo’s hair only seconds after he’d teased him over how unkempt it looks. He misses catching Oikawa off-guard. He misses having Oikawa curled against him, misses how natural and how _right_ that always felt. 

Kuroo thumps his face against the keyboard. 

“Oh god, okay, it’s worse than I thought.” Bokuto pulls the laptop away. He slams the laptop closed again with an inappropriate amount of force and wheels Kuroo away from his desk. “Hey, it’s alright to miss him! But it’s been a week and as your best friend, it’s my responsibility to pull you out of this slump. Can you imagine Akaashi just letting me wallow whenever I'm upset?”

Kuroo levels his friend with a look of disbelief as he tries to decipher if Bokuto is kidding or not. “That’s exactly what Akaashi does.”

“…Besides the point!” Bokuto waves this off. “We’re gonna get you through these tough times, buddy. Starting with—”

“If you suggest casual sex, I swear to _god_ , Bo.”

“Actually, I was thinking!”

Kuroo makes a face. “ _No_. That never ends well.”

“You didn’t even let me finish…board game night! And card games! Yes, I know how Akaashi gets when he loses…and I know how I get when I lose but! It’ll be different this time! Iwaizumi’s over and if you’d like to, you could join us.”

“Wait.” Kuroo tilts his head to the side, his interest piqued. “Iwaizumi’s here?” He looks out his bedroom door to where Iwaizumi and Akaashi are talking in the hallway, Iwaizumi’s cheeks dimpling when he smiles at something Akaashi’s said.

Bokuto fidgets. “It’s not weird, is it? ‘Cause if it is…”

“It’s a _bit_ weird,” Kuroo admits. “But it’s fine. I’ll join you guys in a second, yeah?”

He smiles thinly in response to Bokuto’s encouraging thumbs up and doesn’t turn his chair back around until his friend’s left the room. Kuroo turns off his laptop, his hand hovering over his phone.

Zero messages from Oikawa.

Zero missed calls. 

“You coming?” Bokuto yells.

“I’ll be right there!” Kuroo takes a deep breath and leaves his phone behind as he joins his friends in the living room.

 

As it turns out, Iwaizumi’s also a poor loser, but he’s still a better sport about it than his two boyfriends. Hours later and Akaashi’s curled up on the sofa in a trance-like state, mumbling incoherently as he waves his hand of cards in front of him. He’s been sitting like that since Bokuto had won the game in the final round. 

Bokuto slowly eases the cards out of Akaashi’s hand. “Babe?”

“Is he…alright?” Iwaizumi asks.

Kuroo snickers. “I wouldn’t worry about it. He gets like this every time.”

After snapping his fingers in front of Akaashi’s face and receiving no response, Bokuto gets up to fetch Akaashi a glass of water from the kitchen, leaving Kuroo and Iwaizumi as the only ones fully conscious in the living room.

Iwaizumi clears his throat when their eyes meet. He splays his hands out across his knees. “So, Kuroo, how have you been since…?” 

Kuroo smiles politely, blinks back against the sudden wetness in his eyes, swallows back against the roughness of his throat. “Honestly? Pretty shitty,” he confesses.

Iwaizumi nods like he’d expected as much. “I’m sorry about you two. I really thought this time—”

Kuroo’s hands clench into fits in his lap. He tilts his chin up and quietly asks, “And Oikawa? How is he? Good?”

At the mention of Oikawa, Akaashi snaps into alertness. He squares his shoulders as he rights himself. Tone dripping with poison, grin as sharp as a razor, Akaashi asks cordially, “Yes, how is chicken-shit-Oikawa-san faring in all of this?”

Kuroo has to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter.

Iwaizumi coughs, his smile sheepish. “Ah, Oikawa. He’s…not talking about it. He’s been avoiding me, I think? I have no idea what’s going on inside that thick skull of his,” Iwaizumi admits. “I didn’t even know the two of you broke up until Bokuto told me about it.”

_You can’t break up with someone you weren’t even dating._

“New game?” Bokuto proposes when he returns, perching on the armrest of the sofa Iwaizumi’s sitting on, his fingers dipping into Iwaizumi’s spikey hair.

“Actually, I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” says Iwaizumi.

Bokuto pouts. “Ah? Leaving so soon? You could stay over, if you want.”

Kuroo watches in amusement as Iwaizumi coughs again, the other boy’s face turning several shades brighter as he sputters. Out of instinct, Kuroo turns to check Oikawa’s reaction, expecting a mortified grimace, only to remember Oikawa’s not there with them.

“I have an early volleyball practice tomorrow and a midterm to study for. So, I can’t. But--” Iwaizumi stands and lifts a hand to the crook of Bokuto’s neck before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “But I’ll see you two again soon.”

That seems to satisfy Bokuto who has gone quiet, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he touches his hand to his lips.

Iwaizumi turns to Kuroo, his expression suddenly stern. “It was good seeing you again. Oikawa’s going to come to his senses soon enough. I’m sure of it. If not,” Iwaizumi cracks his knuckles. “I might have beat some sense into him.”

Kuroo would be concerned for Oikawa if he hadn’t learned by now that Iwaizumi’s more bark than bite. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. It’s fine, really.”

Iwaizumi nods. He kisses Akaashi on the cheek in parting, their hands touching briefly before he leaves.

“Not weird?” Bokuto asks in confirmation after Iwaizumi’s gone.

“Not weird,” Kuroo reassures them again. “I…needed this, I think. Thanks for tonight.”

By the time he gets back to his room, his chest is feeling lighter. He finds his phone on his desk where he’d left it. Feigning disinterest, Kuroo checks if he’s missed anything.

His heart stops, stammers when his phone abruptly buzzes to life in his hands.

**[Oikawa calling…]**

A poorly-rehearsed, anger-fueled rant sits poised on the tip of Kuroo’s tongue, ready to be unleashed the moment he answers but he _can’t_. He has so many questions he wants to ask, starting with ‘what the hell, Oikawa?’ but he _can’t_. 

Can’t answer the phone because maybe Oikawa’s just decided he misses his fuck buddy.

Can’t because he doesn’t trust himself not to take Oikawa back even if that’s the case.

He closes his eyes and lets the call go to voicemail.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy the following contains a brief description of drunken kissing and also vomiting you've been warned :o

The first thing Oikawa does when he gets home is start a new clothes cycle. He’s certain that the shirts are clean, that Kuroo’s washed them already before setting them aside for him, but they still smell thickly of Kuroo’s pine-scented detergent, the distinct smell too reminiscent of him. So Oikawa washes them. When the cycle’s finished and the clothes have dried, he hangs them back in his closet with almost mechanical efficiency. There’s just as many, if not more, t-shirts of Kuroo’s hanging there, certainly enough to fill a drawer of his own.

Kuroo’s volleyball jacket in particular taunts him.

How long had he let things carry on before noticing how dangerously attached he’d let himself become? Oikawa’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood as he retrieves an empty box from beneath his bed.

 _I made the right choice_ , he tells himself.

Oikawa’s sure of it, even as he clenches his fist in the collar of Kuroo’s volleyball jacket, even as he presses his cheek to the soft fabric. A long moment later, he drops it into the box with the rest of the appropriated clothes, the knot in his stomach coiling tighter as he lets the jacket slip from his hands.

He can’t allow himself that kind of sentimental vulnerability. Oikawa takes a deep, steady breath, dispelling his doubts as he closes the box and pushes it back underneath his bed. It’s better to cut things off early, before either of them are too far gone. He’s doing them a favor, really, saving them both the trouble of an inevitable messy breakup and the heartache that’d follow. _Saving yourself_ , he mentally corrects.

Because that’s what this is about, isn’t? Why Oikawa gave up trying?

A hookup is simple. It’s easier. It’s to touch without desperate tenderness, to lay naked with someone without being made raw, bare, _vulnerable_.

Oikawa’s thoughts are interrupted by sound of jangling keys, the loud click of the door announcing Iwaizumi’s home.

Oikawa stands, adjusts his hair in the mirror, and swallows back against the lump in his throat, his lips stretching in a well-rehearsed smile. Satisfied he doesn’t look half as wretched as he feels, Oikawa leaves his room to greet Iwaizumi.

“Welcome home, Iwa-chan~”

~*~

It’s been a few days now and Oikawa still hasn’t given Iwaizumi the box to pass onto Kuroo. Instead, the box sits there, like a monster under the bed, like a corpse decaying. It festers, practically _gnawing_ at him as he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Oikawa stubbornly refuses to acknowledge it, but he’s sure the thing can smell his fear.

 _Pathetic_ , Oikawa hears in his own voice.

Oikawa hasn’t even _mentioned_ the breakup, but Iwaizumi knows. And he knows that Oikawa knows he knows but neither of them is talking about it, which suits Oikawa just fine. For whatever reason, Kuroo hasn’t asked for his stuff back and he hasn’t changed their relationship on Facebook. That, too, suits Oikawa just fine.

Life goes on. 

The sight of dim stars peppered across the night sky makes his chest throb, but other than that, it’s like nothing’s really changed.

~*~

Oikawa wins his next volleyball game, too. When his eyes scan over the stands, his finds Iwaizumi cheering for him alone.

Kuroo isn’t there.

Oikawa hadn’t expected him to be, and yet Kuroo’s absence fills the large gym. Disappointment cuts through him like a jagged knife, and neither the satisfaction of win nor the audience’s thunderous applause is enough to numb it.

~*~

In a moment of weakness, Oikawa tears open the stupid box, tossing the clothes aside until he finds what he’s looking for.

He brings the jacket to bed with him and tugs it under his pillow.

“I made the right decision,” Oikawa tells his four bedroom walls. There’s nowhere there to argue with him and yet he still feels like he’s admitting defeat.

~*~

Oikawa means to delete their selfies off his phone, he really does, but there’s just so many. They somehow outweigh the number of sunset pictures Oikawa’s taken, which says a lot. Now he’s just skimming through them in a senseless act of self-torture. 

“Hey, are we gonna talk about this?” Iwaizumi asks from behind him as he shrugs on his hoodie.

Oikawa doesn’t look up from his phone. “Talk about what?”

Iwaizumi sighs, continues, “Not that I’m judging I just—wait, is that’s Kuroo’s…” He makes a retching noise as he turns away. “Okay, _now_ I’m judging.”

Oikawa sighs wistfully as he switches to the next picture.

“I’m heading out for a bit.”

Oikawa drops his phone in his lap. He turns and faces Iwaizumi. “Ah, date night with Akaashi and Bokuto?”

Iwaizumi looks almost bashful as he zips his hoodie.

“And Kuroo? He’ll be there?” Oikawa tries, fails to sound indifferent.

“Yeah, probably. It’s his apartment, too,” Iwaizumi says. He gives Oikawa a thoughtful look. “You gonna be okay on your own?”

Impulsively, Oikawa answers, “Actually. I’m going out, too. It’s been a while since I last went dancing.” It’s exactly what he needs to take his mind off of things.

“Oh.” Iwaizumi’s brows contort like he’s not sure whether this concerns him or not. “Okay. Whatever you need to do. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home if you need someone to pick you up.”

~*~

Oikawa goes to a bar, but a different one than where he first met Kuroo.

An attractive woman pulls a stool next to his, buys him a drink as she leans in and whispers filthy things into his ear, her hand squeezing Oikawa’s thigh. The whole thing feels scripted and shallow - but it’s what he came for, so he gives her his most charming smile and flirts back.

He drinks way more than he was supposed to, one shot for each time he thinks something he’s not supposed to. He drinks until his cheeks are flushed bright red, until he’s nearly loopy with it.  
Her fingers feel soft when they brush against Oikawa’s exposed wrist, and Oikawa can’t help but miss the roughness of callused hands.

He takes a shot.

Her eyes are a pale shade of blue. They’re pretty, but they aren’t flecked with gold, they aren’t brown.

_When did he decide he likes brown eyes best?_

He takes a shot.

She orders herself something fruity, something tropical that comes with a decorative umbrella and a maraschino cherry. “You know,” she whispers, “they say people who can tie the stems with their tongues—”

Oikawa laughs and take another shot.

 

He goes back to her place, lets her kiss him, lets her push him down onto the bed. She guides their mouths together, her lips tasting of cigarettes. Oikawa’s hand ghosts down across her stomach and he frowns when he finds none of the firm muscle that he’s used to.

 _Of course she’d be different than Kuroo_ , he reminds himself, _that was the point_.

He makes low, gaspy noises at the back of his throat at the feeling of her lips against his neck. If he’s still not hard yet then it’s probably because he’s had one too many shots.

Oikawa shifts his hips, helps her tug down his skinny jeans and then surges up and kisses her, this time with enthusiasm, his eyes clamping shut as he imagines those are rough hands sliding down along his chest, as he imagines he’s curling his fingers in dark, disheveled hair. “Ah, Tetsu-chan,” he murmurs against her lips.

She pulls back, stares at him in confusion.

It takes a moment for Oikawa to realize his mistake and when he does, he rolls away from her, cheeks flaming in embarrassment as he re-dresses himself in rush. “I—I need to go.”

He’s out of her apartment before she can respond. Stomach churning, Oikawa sits down on the sidewalk and knees pressed against his chest. He rocks himself back and forth as he breathes deeply, unsteadily, his lungs failing him. By the time he can finally breathe again, Oikawa’s face is damp with tears and his fist’s clenched tightly around his cellphone.

Oh.

Oh god.

 _I made a mistake_ , Oikawa realizes with a sinking feeling of dread. _I made a **huge goddamn** mistake_.

There’s no point in denying it anymore. He misses Kuroo, even when he’s not even thinking about him. It’s like the part of Oikawa that feels something Kuroo occupies some kind of permanent residence in his consciousness and he can’t escape it. And honestly, he’s tired of trying.

Oikawa doesn’t remember making the decision to call Kuroo, his fingers suddenly dialing Kuroo’s number without his consent.

His phone rings.

Oikawa’s not breathing anymore.

It rings a second time.

His eyes are clenched shut, his whole body shaking from the cold.

It rings a third time and then goes to voicemail.

“Hey, you’re reached Tetsurou’s voicemail, unfortunately I cannot come to the phone right now, but if you’d like to leave a message—Bokuto _no_ —” there’s a loud crash and then nothing.

“Please leave a message at the sound of the beep,” instructs the phone.

BEEP.

Oikawa’s hand tremble, bile rising in his throat as he tries to think of something to say that could possibly make this better.

 _I’m sorry I broke your heart_.

That’d go over well.

_I’m sorry I ruined everything, I’m sorry I ruin everything I touch, I’m sorry I—_

Bile rises in Oikawa throat and before he can stop it, Oikawa’s crouching over and hurling on the grass. He mentally adds his drunken hookup to the long list of people he’s failed this month.

“Would you like to save or delete this message?”

~*~

Iwaizumi returns home to find Oikawa standing outside of their apartment, hunched over and slurring obscenities as he blindly stabs his key at the door knob.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hiccups in surprise. “You’re _home_.” He sways a little as he pouts. “The key won’t fit.”

Iwaizumi looks down at Oikawa who is still feebly jabbing his keys at the door with no success.

“That’s because those are your car keys. Oi, you weren’t driving tonight, were you?” Iwaizumi asks, nudging Oikawa’s hand to the side so that he can fit his own house key in the lock. Oikawa’s drunk, there’s no question to that; Iwaizumi can smell the stench of alcohol on his friend’s breath as Oikawa sags against him.

Oikawa blinks hard as he tries to bring everything back into focus. “I took a—I cabbed,” he answers, leaning all his weight against Iwaizumi when Iwaizumi loops an arm around his shoulders.

“I thought you were going out tonight,” Iwaizumi says as he helps Oikawa across the room. He lowers Oikawa onto the couch, his brows knotted in concern. Iwaizumi sits down next to him, sighs when Oikawa rests his head against Iwaizumi’s leg. “You’re home early,” he observes.

Oikawa wrinkles his nose at the unspoken question in Iwaizumi’s words. “Iwa-chan.” He tilts his head back, his eyes meeting Iwaizumi’s. “Iwa-chan, I think I…I think I really fucked up this time.”

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenches. “What happened? Did something…?”

Oikawa draws his thumb in small circles against the sofa’s cushion. “She was pretty.”

“Oikawa-san…”

“She kissed me,” Oikawa blurts, his eyes fluttering open as he wets his lips. “S’good, at first and then I kept thinkin’ of—and I _couldn’t_ —” Oikawa breathes shakily. “N’ I miss him, Iwa-chan. I didn’t even, _fuck_ , an’ I didn’t realize until someone else was touching me an’ it felt wrong.”

“What happened?” Iwaizumi repeats, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “between you and Kuroo?”

“I-I could tell you were worried and I ‘an want you to be so I…” He turns his head to the side as he worries his lip between his teeth. “But we weren’t. We were never really dating,” Oikawa confesses. He grimaces and braces himself for Iwaizumi’s reaction.

“I knew that already, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi sighs, half-laughing. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re being genuine?”

Oikawa’s mouth slants into a frown. “ _Eh_ , then why didn’t you ..?”

“Because.” Iwaizumi breathes out an exasperated sigh and scuff his knuckles against the top of Oikawa’s head. “I don’t care if you’re hooking up with people, idiot. It just didn’t seem like it was making you happy. But with Kuroo—I don’t know…you two are good for each other. That much’s real, I think.” Iwaizumi blushes as he presses a hand to the back of his own neck.

“We _were_ good.”

“Hmmm?”

“We were good together,” Oikawa clarifies. “I ruined everything.”

“Hey now, that’s not true!”

Oikawa scoffs. His throat feels dry as he buries his face in the crook of his elbow. “It is. S’my fault that I—” He swallows thickly. “I tried calling ‘em n’ he wouldn’t—Iwa-chan, he _hates_ me.”

“That’s not—wait, you called Kuroo? Tonight?” Iwaizumi’s tone is laced with disapproval.

Oikawa nods vigorously. “I like him. I mean, I _like_ like him and Tetsu-chan he needs to know that. He _needs_ to.” The urge to confess his feelings to Kuroo resurfaces immediately and Oikawa digs his hand into his pocket, breathes heavily as he holds his phone up in front of his face, nearly dropping it. “M’just gonna try again. One more time.”

Iwaizumi plucks the phone from Oikawa’s hand before Oikawa can finish dialing Kuroo’s number. “Okay, nope, no you don’t. You’re drunk. Don’t you think Kuroo deserves better than that?”

“Better ‘an me, you mean,” Oikawa groans, his nose smearing snot against the fabric of Iwaizumi’s worn jeans as he thuds his head against Iwaizumi’s leg.

“Gross.” Iwaizumi picks up a tissue from the box beside him and dabs it at Oikawa’s face until Oikawa gets the point and finally takes it from him to blow his nose. “Look, we’ll talk about this tomorrow. When you’ve sobered up. For now, you should go get some rest. Do I need to carry you to your room, or do you think you can walk?”

“I can walk,” Oikawa says, sounding petulant as he blows his nose into the tissue again. He lifts to his feet and almost immediately stumbles back down onto the couch. “Mmkay, maybe not,” he giggles.

Iwaizumi looks off into the distance blankly; his face deadpanned as he wraps his arms around Oikawa’s waist and lifts him up. “How is this my life?”

“Y’r a good friend,” Oikawa murmurs affectionately. He sighs as he pats Iwaizumi’s head.

“Uh huh. Don’t you dare even think about throwing up on me, I swear I will drop you in an instant.”  
~*~

“Morning,” Iwaizumi says when Oikawa eventually joins him in the living room the next day.

Oikawa cringes and hushes him. “Shhh, not so loud. It’s too early for yelling.” His head’s throbbing like someone took a sledgehammer to it.

“I wasn’t—”

“ _Shhh_.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes but wordlessly offers Oikawa a glass of water and an aspirin. They don’t speak again until Oikawa’s finished the water and is no longer glaring at anything that makes even the slightest of noises.

“Here, you can have your phone back now,” Iwaizumi says, sliding it towards Oikawa.

Oikawa looks down at it, perplexed, and then he remembers the unfortunate events of yesterday.

Right.

_He called Kuroo._

Oikawa groans and rubs at his temples.

“Yesterday…It sounded like you wanted to get back together with him,” Iwaizumi says cautiously.

Is that even a possibility at this point?

“I want to,” Oikawa admits. “God, I want to. It’s just—last time he saw me I freaked out about a drawer and ran off like a crazy person. What am I supposed to tell him?”

“The truth,” Iwaizumi suggests.

Oikawa laughs hoarsely. “That what? That I’m emotionally constipated and terrified of abandonment?”

“Hey, your words, not mine,” Iwaizumi says. “I’ve seen Kuroo, though. He may be angry now, but he’ll come around. He still cares about you.”

“For now, maybe. But what if I fuck that up again? I can be _clingy_ sometimes…what if I’m too much to handle? What if he realizes that I’m not—what if he decides I’m not good enough? That there’s someone better for him? _Then what?_ ”

“Oi,” Iwaizumi snaps. He pulls Oikawa’s face between his hands. “Listen, Kuroo deserves a little more credit than that. You spent all that time together, he knows by now about your shitty personality, but he _loves_ you. Fix this. You still can.”

“ _Mean_ ,” Oikawa pouts. He laughs sheepishly and pushes Iwaizumi’s hands away. “Geez, when did you get so sentimental?”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi huffs. “Dating two people requires a lot of communication, okay?” His face softens a moment later. “So what are you gonna do?”

“If he still won’t talk to me?” Oikawa makes an exasperated noise as he sinks back against the couch. That’s a possibility he’s dreading. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“I might have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”

~*~

“Akaashi! Fancy seeing you here, hmm?” Oikawa says cheerily as he sits down at the table, taking a seat directly across from the Akaashi.

Akaashi sets down his textbook and arches a brow at Oikawa. “At my school,” Akaashi clarifies, “in the library…of the English department?”

Oikawa shoots him his most winning smile.

“But sure, a coincidence,” Akaashi intones. He fixes Oikawa with a stern look. “What do you want, Oikawa-san?”

Right to the point then.

Oikawa’s smile drops as he folds his hands in his lap. “I need your help.”

“No,” Akaashi shoots back immediately.

Oikawa blinks in surprise. “ _No?_ But I haven’t even—”

“Kuroo’s finally starting to return to his normal self after what happened with you two,” Akaashi says, glaring. “No, I’m not going to help you convince my best friend to keep hooking up with you. No, I’m not going to help you break his heart a second time. Forget it. ” Akaashi returns his attention to the pages of textbook as if he already considers Oikawa dismissed.

“Oi, it’s not about the sex! I mean it was but it’s not—not anymore.” Oikawa deflates. “I just need to talk to him.”

Akaashi narrows his eyes at Oikawa.

“I’m _serious_ about him! I don’t know what it’s going to take to convince either of you of that, but it’s true. I know I fucked up, I’m just—I’m asking for a second chance. If he says no, then I’ll get out of your hair, I promise.” Oikawa bites his bottom lip, his eyes pleading as he waits for Akaashi’s answer. “If it was Bokuto-san or Iwa-chan, wouldn’t you do everything you could to win them back?”

A long moment passes, and then another before Akaashi finally takes pity on him. “Fine,” says Akaashi. “If you want to woo him back, you’re going to have to do it publically. Kuroo’s a sap who appreciates grand gestures.”

“Ah, I see.” Oikawa smiles brightly. He sits up straighter in his seat. “Hold a boombox outside his window?”

Akaashi scowls at him.

“Okay, something else _entirely_ then.”

“The three of us usually get together with friends over the weekend to play volleyball,” Akaashi tells Oikawa. “If you wanted to surprise him without it being an ambush, that’d be a good place. We’re playing a game on Saturday. I’ll give you the time and address of the practice.”

Oikawa nods as he listens intently. “Right! Okay, so I show up at the gym, and then what?”

“That’s up to you, I suppose. I can’t do all the heavy lifting for you.” Akaashi shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’ll figure something out.”

And then Akaashi’s dismissing Oikawa again as Akaashi pulls his book closer, his gaze drawn back to its pages. This time, Oikawa takes the hint and tugs his the strap of his satchel back over his shoulder as he prepares to leave. He still needs an idea, but Akaashi’s found him an opportunity, at least.

Oikawa bows in thanks.

“Oh, and Oikawa-san? One more thing,” Akaashi says, his tone as polite as ever. “If you hurt him again, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I,” Oikawa blanches, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~*~

It’d be a giant goddamn understatement to say that Oikawa’s nervous.

He’s standing outside of the gymnasium holding a giant, glittery sign as he paces back and forth outside the door. From outside, he can hear the scuff of shoes against the gym floor and the muffled yells of the players. He pauses, hand hovering hesitantly above the door handle.

“It’s gonna go great,” Iwaizumi reassures him, squeezing Oikawa’s shoulder.

Or it’ll go horribly wrong, Oikawa reasons. He has no idea which it’ll be.

In a few minutes from now, Oikawa’s gonna be apologizing. Publically. In a gymnasium filled with people who probably hate Oikawa’s guts. That’s if Kuroo doesn’t just shut down the gesture immediately, and if Oikawa’s honest, there’s a good chance of that happening.

“Right, _it’ll be great_ ,” Oikawa echoes when he senses Iwaizumi’s about to call him out for overthinking again.

He looks more confident than he feels as he forces a smile and waves the sign in front of him,

“Hey, you got this. If anything happens, I’ll be standing outside.”

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Oikawa says, aware he sounds petulant even though he’s grateful for the moral support. Oikawa casts another uncertain glance at the gym doors.

Iwaizumi grunts in acknowledgment and rolls his eyes. “You goin’ in or not?”

Oikawa takes a step towards the door and then freezes again. “What if it’s already too late and he rejects me? What if he’ll never trust me again after I—?” Oikawa asks in a panic. There’s sweat gathering on his forehead as his hand squeezes around the handle again.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Right, you’re right,” Oikawa admits. Exhaling sharply, he pushes through the gymnasium doors.

 

The practice match is nearly its end when Kuroo’s teammate’s snickers ripple through the gymnasium.

Daichi squints up towards the stands and points. “Hey is that…Oikawa?”

What the hell. There’s no way—

“Feh, Oikawa? Why would he be…?”

The ball drops from Kuroo’s hand, rolls across the gym as he looks up at the stands and sees Oikawa standing there, impossible to miss. It’s _him_. It’s really—

It’s been nearly two weeks since they broke up but somehow, impossibly, Oikawa’s here. He’s up there in the stands, his smile wavering as he holds a sparkly hand-made sign reading I’M AN IDIOT above his head. Kuroo turns to look at Bokuto and Akaashi in search of an explanation but neither of them will meet his gaze. Bokuto’s actually whistling under his breath, the exact opposite of subtle.

The sign would be kind of hilarious if this whole situation weren’t so absurd. Kuroo curses under his breath. “Uh, shit, do you mind if we take a short break?”

Oikawa waves at the oglers.

“Yeah, sure. We were just about to wrap things up, anyway,” Daichi says. He glances up at Oikawa and the obnoxious poster with thinly veiled amusement as he pats Kuroo’s back. He leans in and whispers, “Good luck” before disappearing into the storage room.

Heart beating fast too fast against his ribs, Kuroo climbs up the stands to where Oikawa’s waiting for him. He nearly misses a few steps in his haste. He should slow down and think, remind himself not to get too hopeful, but it’s already too late for that.

In an ideal world, Kuroo’s first words to Oikawa after their break up are more impressive than a low, tentative, “Hey.” In Kuroo’s defense, Oikawa is a distracting sight, dressed in a soft grey t-shirt and hideous plaid cargo shorts, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Just the sight of him makes Kuroo grin.

Oikawa looks good. _Kissable_ , Kuroo’s traitorous mind supplies.

“Hey,” replies Oikawa, sounding out of breath.

Kuroo claps a hand over his mouth, nearly laughing at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “What’s with the sign?” _What is this?_

“You weren’t answering my calls, Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa says, voice wavering as he holds Kuroo’s gaze. “I needed to get your attention.” He looks down at where he’s holding the sign. “Ah, is it tacky? I hope not, ‘cause it took a lot of time to make, you will not believe how easily glitter spreads—” Oikawa wrings his wrists and frowns when he realizes he’s rambling. “I’m an _idiot_.”

“Yeah, I got that.” The words are written in bold, purple glitter script, easily legible from even the other side of the gym. He smirks at the words. “No, it’s nice, seeing you so humbled.”

Oikawa’s face turns serious. “I shouldn’t have left like that, without any explanation. I never should have left at all but, shit, I just—I _panicked_.” He takes a step towards Kuroo. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry you got glitter everywhere,” Kuroo says earnestly, still uncertain where Oikawa’s going with this.

Oikawa takes another step forward. “I _like_ you,” Oikawa says. “If you ask me to leave, I will, but I want this. I want a second chance to get this right,” Oikawa tells him, his eyes searching, “Kuroo Tetsurou, will you go out with me, for real this time?”

Kuroo stares. He’s not entirely convinced that there isn’t some kind of catch, that he’s not going to suddenly wake up from this too-good dream. He wants desperately to believe this is real, but—

“How am I to know you’re not gonna go running off at the next sign of commitment?”

“You could take it on faith,” Oikawa suggests lightly. “Or—.”

“Or?”

“Or you could let me prove it to you,” he finishes. “I know it took me a ridiculously long time to figure it out, but I like you, and I don’t want to run from those feelings anymore. I’m not going anywhere, not if you want me to stay.”

Kuroo closes the space between them, his lips slowly curling into a hesitant smile as he asks, “Oh, and what about the napkin?”

“The—” Oikawa blinks once, twice, before understanding dawns across his face, and then he’s grinning. “Screw the damn napkin.”

“Then I suppose I wouldn’t _object_ ,” Kuroo says, grinning back as he measures each word carefully, “to giving this a second shot. A first shot? I’m little fuzzy on the technicalities at this point.” He lifts his hand to cup the side of Oikawa’s cheek, heart stammering when Oikawa leans into the touch and places his palm over Kuroo’s. “You’re lucky.”

“That I’m so cute?” Oikawa guesses, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“No, that I’m this kind.”

Oikawa laughs shakily, the sound bright and delighted.

“M’gonna kiss you now,” Kuroo says. He waits for Oikawa to nod, for his lashes to flutter closed before Kuroo kisses him, pressing their lips together for a fraction of a second, softly, gently, as he strokes his thumb along the line of Oikawa’s jaw.

“Fuck, these past few weeks have been hell,” Kuroo murmurs against his lips.

Oikawa grimaces. “Would it please you to know it wasn’t any better for me?”

“Mmm,” Kuroo hums, “Yeah, yeah it would.” He kisses the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, his hands clutching Oikawa’s hips as Oikawa’s lips part and he lets the sign fall to the floor.

“So,” Oikawa breathes when they pull apart. “What now?”

Kuroo smirks, his mouth tingling from the warmth of Oikawa’s lips. “What, you need me to draft an itinerary?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Oikawa hisses, lips scrunching in a pout. “I need you to help me out here, Tetsu. I don’t usually do this sort thing.”

Kuroo laughs at the use of his own words. His eyes gleam. “Yeah? And what _thing_ would that be?” He could let Oikawa off the hook, but what would be the fun in that?

“The dating thing,” Oikawa replies, his voice a low, raspy whisper. Kuroo shivers as Oikawa’s breath ghosts against his collar. “The _boyfriends_ thing.”

 _Boyfriends_.

They’re really doing this.

“We should take things slow,” Kuroo instructs. He watches Oikawa’s face, expects Oikawa’s lips to crease into a frown, waits for an objection, but it doesn’t come. He can feel Oikawa’s pulse beneath the pad of his thumb, a sure and steady thing.

Oikawa doesn’t flinch; says it like a promise when his answer comes a second later: “I can do slow.”

“We’ll start with a coffee date.” Kuroo’s making this up as he’s going along, but it makes sense. It sounds right.

“Coffee’s a good start,” Oikawa agrees. His eyes glint as his fingers brush against the inner side of Kuroo’s wrist. “Are you free Saturday?”

Kuroo tilts his head to the side, feigning contemplation. “I’ll have to check with my people, first.”

“He’s free!” Bokuto shouts from the other side of the gym. He grins and gives them both a thumbs-up.

Akaashi shrugs noncommittally.

“Your people say you’re free,” Oikawa points out hopefully.

Kuroo’s face breaks into a full grin. “Saturday it is, then.”

“Perfect.” Oikawa grins back. “I’ll be the one wearing the UFO-print tie.”

Kuroo leans and kisses Oikawa again, because he can, because he’s drunk on happiness, because it feels like he’s coming up for air after too long of holding his head underwater. It feels right, like everything’s fallen back into place as Oikawa weaves their hands together. “I have one more condition, though.”

“Anything,” Oikawa breathes.

Kuroo brushes his lips against Oikawa’s jaw, says, “You have to bring that sign with you on the date.”

Oikawa laughs silently and Kuroo can feel Oikawa’s shoulders shake against him. “Fucking—you’re the _worst_ ,” Oikawa tells him and then guides their mouths together again, kisses Kuroo with force, like he’s been starved for it. Kuroo can feel the curve of Oikawa’s smirk against his lips.

“Mmm, but you _like_ me,” Kuroo taunts.

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, eyes soft, his smile fond. “Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aAAaaaa so sorry for the delay I was just really struggling with this chapter, and i've been hard at work on my exchange fic and also my computer crashed. it was....a Lot. 
> 
> but!!! it's here! thank you jess for pushing me to do my best with this, becky for beta'ing the second version and nat for fueling my love for oikuroo via adorable bubble bath scenes 
> 
> ALSO: this is not the last chapter, I still have a lot of fluff planned out for the final part ^^


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay!

“ _Nooo_ , hey, why’d you stop?” Oikawa whines. 

They’re lying in bed facing each other, with Oikawa settled against Kuroo’s front, his chin propped against Kuroo’s chest and his palm spread across the flat of Kuroo’s stomach. Kuroo’s thighs are cold where Oikawa’s got his bare feet pressed up against them. 

As per request, Kuroo’s been reading his battered copy of _The Iliad_ aloud, only Oikawa seems like he’s struggling to stay awake, his face contorting in a yawn and eyes closing every few minutes or so, so Kuroo stopped reading. 

But it’s clear by the visible pout on Oikawa’s face that he’s not having it. “C’mon, keep going.”  
For emphasis, Oikawa slides his feet up farther along Kuroo’s legs, his fingers tracing lazy shapes along the splay of Kuroo’s ribs. 

Chuckling, Kuroo closes the book, keeping his thumb tucked between the pages to mark his place. “Were you even listening?”

Oikawa huffs indignantly at the question. “ _Yes_.” A heartbeat later, Oikawa’s eyes flutter open. “Fine, not really,” he confesses, his words muffled by another yawn as he shifts closer, his lips brushing against Kuroo’s collar bone. “But I like listening to the sound of your voice. S’soothing.”

Kuroo bites back a smile, his heart pounding in his chest Idly, he wonders if Oikawa can feel the heavy drum of it beneath his lips. “I think that’s enough reading for tonight.” 

Oikawa tenses against him, and Kuroo can tell Oikawa’s preparing to complain again when suddenly a worn sheet of paper slips out from between the pages of Kuroo’s book. Interest piqued, Oikawa sits up a little and catches the sheet in his palms. “Oho~ what’s this?” he asks as he hurries to unfold it. His eyes skim over it quickly. “ _Oh_.”

“What is it?”

“It’s...our ‘fake dating’ itinerary” Oikawa says, his eyes lifting to meet Kuroo’s. “The one I wrote when we first started, ya know.” 

God, Kuroo’d nearly forgotten about that. 

It feels like a lifetime ago.

He says as much and Oikawa answers with a noise of agreement. 

Glancing over Oikawa’s shoulder, Kuroo instantly recognizes some of the ‘dates’ they’d been on. He smirks, cheek leaning against Oikawa’s head as he scans over the glittery green print written there on the page that’d been ripped from one of Oikawa’s notebooks. 

“Ah, we should probably cross karaoke off the list now. We did that a month ago.”

Oikawa snickers. “God, how could I forget?” His eyes are bright with amusement, but Kuroo can’t tell if he’s thinking about Bokuto serenading his two boyfriends with Celine Dion ballads or if he’s fondly recalling their tone-deaf duet of ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.’ 

“Favorite date?” Kuroo asks and tangles his fingers in Oikawa’s hair. 

Oikawa’s eyes flick over the list again, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he quotes, “ _Buy Tooru-chan milk bread_. Definitely that.”

“No, c’mon, seriously,” he urges, lips hovering just above the shell of Oikawa’s ear.

Oikawa relents with a soft sigh. “Cat café,” he admits. “I know I teased you, but it was actually really fun.” 

Kuroo replies with a noncommittal grunt. 

Oikawa tilts his head up, possibly to read Kuroo’s expression as he teases, “Aw, babe, you’re not still jealous that Cheeto liked me best, are you?” Cheeto, of course, refers to the orange kitten that’d relentlessly meowed at Oikawa, weaving back and forth between his legs until Oikawa had lifted the kitten into his lap. 

“Pfft, course not.” He sniffs at the memory of Cheeto scurrying out of his reach whenever he’d tried to pet her. She’d hissed— _hissed_ —when Kuroo attempted to hold her and Oikawa witnessed the whole thing, a smug expression on his face when had Cheeto leapt back into Oikawa’s lap. 

“Oh my god, you _are_ ,” Oikawa exclaims, doing a double take as he pulls back. 

It just didn’t make sense. Cats _love_ Kuroo, okay? 

It’s a fact. A universally accepted truth, if you will.

“Aw, there, there,” Oikawa coos and tugs the covers up higher so that the blankets are reaching just past their shoulders. “S’just one cat. The others liked you.” 

“I liked them too,” Kuroo says. He’s been thinking of going back again ever since their first visit.

“You know, at the café, it’s funny now, but I remember thinking you were gonna demand that the manager let us take one of the cats home with us.”

Kuroo gapes. “Eh? Wait, do you think—could we do that? Would they let us? We should go back and ask, like right now,” he says, despite the fact that it’s past ten at night on a Saturday. 

“Probably not,” Oikawa admits morosely. “But maybe—we could sneak in—” There’s a gleam to his eyes.

With growing excitement, Kuroo says, “It’s just one kitten, they might not even notice.” 

“Yeah? You really think?” 

They exchange a conspiratorial look.

“Except...” 

“Except that we’d definitely get caught,” Oikawa finishes with a disappointed frown. 

Kuroo sighs. “Ah well, it’s probably for the best. M’not sure I’m ready to adopt just yet.”

“Right.” Oikawa nods. “Cats are expensive, and we don’t even live together yet—”

Kuroo arches both brows at him, his heart suddenly pounding. “Yet?” 

They’ve been dating for a few months now, but it’s still delicate, the thing they have between them. Kuroo’s been cautious not to rush into anything, not to say the wrong thing in case it gets to be too much, but maybe he can afford to be less careful after all.

“I—” Oikawa flushes, warmth visibly spreading across his cheeks, eyes bulging as he realizes what he’d said. “Um.”

Kuroo sets his book and fixes Oikawa with an expectant look. “Tooru, what did you mean by _yet_?” he presses. 

Oikawa turns his head and chews his bottom lip. “ _Nothing_. It was just…” He opens his mouth, closes it again and shakes his head. 

Not taking that as an answer, Kuroo threads their fingers together and gives Oikawa’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Tooru?”

“I don’t know, I just—we’ve been dating for a while now and I just thought…” Reluctantly, Oikawa meets Kuroo’s gaze. “In the future, someday. That settling down together, getting a pet… that might be something I’d want for us.”

“Oh.” Kuroo’s chest feels warm as he strokes his thumb over Oikawa’s. 

“Ah, it’s stupid,” Oikawa laughs and self-consciously rubs at the back of his own neck. “Seriously, forget I said anything.”

“Tooru,” Kuroo tries again. “Hey, look at me.” Gently, he crooks his fingers against Oikawa’s nape and tilts his head down to press a kiss between Oikawa’s furrowed brows. His lips lift into a pleased smile when he hears Oikawa quietly expel a shaky breath. “I’d like that too, someday,” Kuroo tells Oikawa, “S’really no one else I’d rather wake up to.” 

And it’s true. 

It’s only been a few weeks since Oikawa first asked to sleep over— _just to sleep beside you, Tetsu-chan, nothing else_ —but it’s already become one of his favorite things: waking up with their legs entangled, their hands clasped together, Oikawa’s face buried in the crook of Kuroo’s shoulder. 

It still feels too intimate and a thing to confess and he’s hyperaware of Oikawa studying his face, so Kuroo tries defusing the confession by capturing Oikawa’s nose between his thumb and forefinger and honking loudly. Kuroo’s face splits into a broad grin when Oikawa sputters out a surprised giggle. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Oikawa chides, still giggling as he lightly smacks Kuroo’s hand away. “God, you’re such a dork,” he says, sounding delighted by the fact. 

Kuroo smiles. “You kinda are too, you know.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence on me, Tetsu-chan.” 

Kuroo shrugs, unapologetic as he lifts Oikawa’s hand to his lips so that he can press a soft kiss to each of Oikawa’s fingertips. He curls his hand around Oikawa’s wrist and lets his lips graze over Oikawa’s knuckles, gratified when Oikawa shivers. As he’s tracing his fingers over the lines of Oikawa’s palm, an idea begins to form in Kuroo’s head. “Pass me a pen?” Kuroo asks. He picks up the crumbled itinerary that’d fallen between them. 

Oikawa reaches over for a pen, his eyes narrowed as he hands it to him hesitantly. “You’re not going to draw on me in my sleep, are you?”

“I’m not going to draw on you,” Kuroo swears solemnly. With a final kiss to Oikawa’s knuckles, Kuroo releases Oikawa hand and props the sheet atop of his copy of _The Iliad_ so that he’d have a solid surface to write on. “We should add to it,” Kuroo explains, smiling at thought of the possibilities, “now that we’re dating for real. It could be like our couple’s bucket list.”

When he doesn’t get a reaction, Kuroo tilts his head down only to see Oikawa staring up at him with overwhelming affection. 

“Don’t—don’t give me that look.”

“What look, Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa asks, his voice low as he flutters his lashes at Kuroo. 

“ _That_ one,” Kuroo grumbles, trying to get his heart beat back under control. His ears burn as he returns his attention to the page. 

Oikawa yawns and pillows his head on Kuroo’s chest, absently trailing his thumb along the line of Kuroo’s jaw when he suggests, “Cooking together. Add it to the list.” 

He folds his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture when Kuroo scoffs. “What? I wanna learn, okay? Plus I think it’d be cute, the two of us cooking together. I want my own personalized apron.”

Kuroo shakes his head in amusement but jots it down anyway. 

“How about paintball?”

“Now there’s a double date I can easily agree to,” Oikawa says, his eyes bright, his thoughts probably consumed by their inevitable victory as paintball champions.

Time passes easily as they brainstorm ideas, both of them talking in low, excited voices, until finally; they’ve filled the entire page. By the time they’ve finished, Kuroo’s eyes have grown heavy, his words slurring from drowsiness and he’s ready to finally fall asleep. 

“It’s a good list,” Oikawa says in approval. 

And it _is_. 

Kuroo leans Oikawa’s touch and smiles as he looks over their final draft. 

~~Picnic in the Park~~  
Aquarium date  
Dinner by the lake  
~~Tokyo Aviation and Space Museum~~  
Cat café  
Karaoke  
Watch fireworks  
Go to the zoo  
~~Watch all of the X-files. Yes, Tetsu-chan, all of them~~  
Buy Tooru-chan milk bread  
Paintball  
Cook at least one recipe together  
Go on a roadtrip together  
Bowling  
Spend an entire evening cuddling  
Watch live music together  
Attend a festival together  
Order in takeout from at least three different takeout places

“S’missing something, though,” Kuroo drawls. 

In answer to the questioning look Oikawa gives him, Kuroo adds one final item to their to-list: 

_Move in together, adopt three cats._

“For... you know… _someday._ ”

Oikawa responds with a loud, full-bodied laugh, his shoulders shaking and Kuroo can feel the heavy vibration of it against his own skin as Oikawa presses kisses along the side of Kuroo’s neck. “Two,” Oikawa bargains. “Two cats.” 

Kuroo glances deliberately between the page and Oikawa, before deciding this is a debate they can revisit to on a later date. He bites the inside of his cheek and corrects it:

_Move in together, adopt ~~three~~ **two** cats_

“Good?”

Oikawa takes both the list and the book from Kuroo, setting them aside. 

“Perfect,” Oikawa breathes, and dips his head down to kissing the corner of Kuroo’s mouth, the underside of his jaw, his cheek, before sealing his lips over Kuroo’s. 

Kuroo melts beneath him, lips parting as he makes a quiet nose at the back of his throat and winds his fingers in the front of Oikawa’s shirt. He first kiss is gentle, Oikawa’s tongue only grazing over Kuroo’s lip. The second kiss is rougher, Kuroo’s hand lifting to Oikawa’s jaw as he guides them into a deeper, wetter kiss, both of them groaning when they tongues slide together. 

Oikawa’s palm feels warm where it’s splayed against Kuroo’s hip, hovering just above the band of Kuroo’s boxers. It’s remarkably easy to get lost in this, to press in for kiss after kiss until his brain’s turned fuzzy, until his chest is heaving but if they keep going at it like this, Kuroo’s going to end up with a Very uncomfortable situation. 

He’s about to ask for a break to catch his breath, to adjust himself, to evaluate whether he wants to go any further than this when Oikawa pulls away of his own volition, planting a final kiss on Kuroo’s nose before settling back against Kuroo’s chest. 

“G’night Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa slurs, gaze soft as he pushes Kuroo’s bangs back with his fingertips, the touch gentle and soothing.

“Goodnight, Tooru.” He’d be a little embarrassed of how breathy it comes out, but he can feel the heavy rise and fall of Oikawa’s chest where they’re connected, the two of them pressed flush against each other. Smiling, Kuroo drops his head against Oikawa’s shoulder and lets his eyes fall closer, safe and inconceivable happy in the knowledge that Oikawa will still be there beside him when he wakes. 

~*~

“These are hideous,” Oikawa says for the third time, astride Kuroo’s lap as he points down to the ugly bowling shoes he’s wearing. 

Kuroo grins and squeezes Oikawa close, tightening his hold around Oikawa’s middle so that they’re bodies are pressed flush together. “I don’t know, I think you’re pulling them off pretty well.”

Oikawa looks pleased for half a second before a look of suspicion crosses his face. He squints as he looks back and forth between Kuroo and the shoes. “Are you just saying that so I’ll stop complaining?” 

Rather than answer the question, Kuroo whistles innocently and returns his attention to Bokuto who’s currently winding up for his throw. 

So far, Oikawa and Kuroo are in the lead, the two of them taking turns bowling an extra round to make up for the fact they’re outnumbered. 

Bokuto does a fist pump when the ball barrels through the pins, knocking them all down in one smooth, swift motion. “Hell yeah, I did it! I’m the best bowler that’s ever lived,” Bokuto crows, undeterred by the fact he’d bowled two gutter balls in a row during his previous turn. He bounds back towards them, a broad grin lighting his face when he picks Akaashi up in his arms and kisses him. “S’a good luck kiss, Ak _aa_ shiii!” he says, setting Akaashi back down on his feet. He waggles his brows. “Pass it on!” 

Akaashi looks back at Iwaizumi. He turns back to face Bokuto and rolls his eyes, “Bokuto-san, I’m not going to—” Iwaizumi pointedly shuffles closer to the edge of the bench, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “ _Oh_ —well, in that case.” 

Akaashi throws Bokuto a final accusing look over his shoulder before leaning in and cupping his hand against Iwaizumi’s jaw. He twines his fingers in Iwaizumi’s spiky hair and presses his lips to Iwaizumi’s parted mouth, both of them inhaling sharply when Akaashi’s teeth graze over Iwaizumi’s lower lip.

“Indirect kiss,” Bokuto gasps, touching his fingers to his own lips. 

Kuroo clears his throat and averts his gaze from the entire scene in front of him as he ponders how it came to be that _he and Oikawa_ would be the more modest ones of the bunch. 

When Akaashi and Iwaizumi finally, blessedly pull apart, Akaashi wipes his mouth against the back of his hand and asks Bokuto, “There, happy now?” As if he’s not biting back a grin of his own. 

The whole thing would be endearing, maybe, if Kuroo weren’t exposed to their sickeningly sweet couple shenanigans on a near regular basis. 

“Uh huh,” Iwaizumi and Bokuto reply in unison. 

Iwaizumi grins and ducks in close to steal a second kiss. 

Ugh. 

Gagging, Kuroo lifts his head, something warm settling in his chest when he sees a pinched expression on Oikawa’s face. 

“God, you guys are gross,” Oikawa complains, his fingers tracing patterns across the blades of Kuroo’s toned shoulders. 

Kuroo makes a noise of agreement and leans back into the touch.

“Do I even need to point out how ironic that is, coming from you two?” Akaashi asks coolly as Bokuto sprawls out across Akaashi and Iwaizumi’s legs. 

Later, when Oikawa stands to take his turn, Kuroo smacks his palm against Oikawa’s ass in encouragement, partially because he’s certain of the disgusted groans it’d draw from their friends, but partially because Oikawa’s ass looks really good in those white skinny jeans. Kuroo might have to reevaluate his original _ass_ -essment of them. 

Across the table Akaashi lets out a long, grievous sigh of disappointment as if he’d heard the pun. 

~*~

It’s a peaceful evening—they’re lying on Oikawa’s bed, the dimming sunlight seeping in through the blinds, Kuroo’s cheek resting against Oikawa’s stomach. It’s quiet—or mostly quiet, they can still hear the muffled voices of their friends through the door—and usually that’s a comfortable thing, a welcome thing, only now that Kuroo’s finished his own readings, he’s attention’s started to wander. 

Restless, Kuroo crawls over Oikawa, caging him in as he dips down to tuck his chin against the textbook. He pushes down on the book and looks up at Oikawa through his lashes as he purrs, “Too- _ru_ , pay attention to me.” 

“Oi, I was reading that,” Oikawa says. His lips twitch in amusement as he lets the book flatten against his lap. “You really _are_ like a cat, huh, Tetsu-chan?” 

“Mmm, sorry.” He grins, shameless as he nuzzles his face against Oikawa’s shoulder. “Guess I shouldn’t distract you, then.”

“Nonono, its fine, c’mere.” Oikawa shoves textbook off of him with an exaggerated amount of flourish, his other hand circling Kuroo’s wrist as he tugs Kuroo down on top of him. 

From this close, Kuroo can see the full fan of Oikawa’s lashes and the flecks in his chocolate brown eyes, Kuroo’s pulse spiking as Oikawa’s breath pans against his neck. His lips hover over Oikawa’s, an unvoiced question. 

Oikawa swallows, thickly, and reaches up to lay his hands against Kuroo’s forearms. “I, uh, I could use a break.”

Kuroo smirks. His eyes drop to where the textbook had landed on the floor. “That’s like, a two hundred dollar textbook,” he says in disapproval, his fingers dipping beneath the hem of Oikawa’s sweater. 

"I was _trying_ ,” Oikawa pouts and loops his arms around Kuroo’s shoulders, “to be dramatic.” 

"Well, you definitely succeeded," Kuroo chuckles against Oikawa’s shoulder. 

He smooths his palm against Oikawa’s stomach, his fingertips pushing down against the firm muscle, just a little, but it’s enough to draw a hiss from Oikawa. Oikawa’s fingers clench hard against the back of Kuroo’s neck as he pulls Kuroo impossibly close. 

Eager to draw more noises from Oikawa, Kuroo snakes his hand beneath Oikawa’s sweater, thumb stroking over the peaked nub of Oikawa’s nipple. Oikawa shudders hard, letting out a quiet, “ _oh_ ,” as he ruts his hardness against Kuroo’s hip. Kuroo adds the barest bit of pressure, his thoughts hazy as he watches Oikawa’s soft pink lips part with a whimper. 

Kuroo unconsciously slots his knee between Oikawa’s and slides his thumb over the wet underside of Oikawa’s lower lip, tugging it down with the pad of his other thumb. His heart pounds in his throat when he feels Oikawa’s lips close around the intrusion. Oikawa shivers, his lashes fluttering as he sucks Kuroo in. 

Breathing hard, Kuroo pushes his thumb against the inside of Oikawa’s mouth, his own face heating at the velvety warmth enveloping him. When Oikawa groans, loud and filthy, the noise reverberates against Kuroo’s thumb, sending heat zipping along Kuroo’s thighs, down his chest, coiling low between his legs when Oikawa swipes his tongue against the sensitive skin. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Kuroo withdraws his thumb. He watches Oikawa’s tongue flick across his own spit-slick lips, Kuroo’s eyes eagerly tracking the moment. 

“Tetsu-chan,” Oikawa urges, his voice hoarse as he rakes his nails along Kuroo’s shoulders hard enough that Kuroo can feel it through the thin fabric of his t-shirt shirt. “Please.”

It’s all the encouragement Kuroo needs before he’s nodding and dipping his head to press his lips against Oikawa’s. He smiles into it, heart jumping in his chest when Oikawa leans up to meet him halfway. The first kiss is nice; it’s sweet and chaste, Oikawa’s hands buried in Kuroo’s hair. 

They break the kiss to catch their breath, both of them grinning when Kuroo flattens his hand against Oikawa’s chest. The mattress beneath them squeaks in protest. He chases after Oikawa’s lips, this time letting Oikawa take control as Oikawa guides the kiss into something deeper, hotter, rougher. 

Kuroo loses himself in it, his mouth falling open to the gentle prodding of Oikawa’s tongue as his lips go lax against Oikawa’s. His thoughts are consumed by the press of Oikawa’s lips against his; by the way Oikawa licks into his mouth, slowly, deliberately, too much and not enough at once. 

Kuroo’s breath comes out staggered as he tugs at the hem of Oikawa’s sweater. It’s only when Oikawa breaks the kiss again, when both of them stare, wide-eyed and panting, that Kuroo slowly starts to come back to himself. 

“Should we,” Oikawa’s brows crease into a small frown, “should we slow down?”

Kuroo pulls back a fraction, shifting his grip on Oikawa’s hips. “Is that what you want?”

“No, but I thought…” Oikawa squirms. “I just don’t want to rush you, or anything. If you’re not ready—”

“Tooru.” Kuroo lips ghost over the curve of Oikawa’s ear. “I want to. I want this.” The tilts his head, gaze steady and firm as he watches understanding cross Oikawa’s face. 

“Okay.” Oikawa nods, once to himself, once to Kuroo. His finger crooks in the collar of Kuroo’s shirt. “You’re sure?”

“ _Positive_.” In demonstration, Kuroo ducks down to press a line of open-mouth kisses down along the junction of Oikawa’s neck. His mouth travels lower, lower. He feels Oikawa’s pulse, wild and erratic beneath his lips. Kuroo waits until Oikawa’s breath’s evened out again, until he’s found a spot he _knows_ is sensitive, before sucking gently at the soft skin. 

“Hha—fuck,” Oikawa grits out. His eyes squeeze shut, shoulders seizing up as his head tips back against the pillow. 

Kuroo tongues over the bite, a shudder of his own working its way down his spine at the litany of ragged gasps and moans spilling from Oikawa’s lips. It’s a beautiful sight: Oikawa’s throat bared, his lips shiny and red. Kuroo isn’t expecting it when Oikawa hitches a leg over Kuroo’s back and grinds up against Kuroo’s thigh hard enough to jostle the bed. 

_Fuck, this is_ —Kuroo buries a groan against the cook of Oikawa’s neck when Oikawa does it again. Beneath him, Oikawa’s rolling his hips forward with purpose and Kuroo’s cock throbs in interest where it’s trapped against the waistband of his boxers. It’s good, so good, every grind of Oikawa’s hips sending waves of heat spreading under his skin and if they keep going at it, Kuroo’s going to end up coming in his pants like a teenager. 

“Tooru, ah, I,” Kuroo grunts. They’re both wearing too many _goddamn_ clothes. ‘Stop, I need—” 

He sits back a little, ignoring the frustrated noise Oikawa makes at the loss of contact. He wastes no time in shedding his shirt, his gaze never waning from Oikawa’s face as he throws the shirt onto the floor behind him. 

Oikawa stares, his eyes tracking hungrily over the bare skin. 

“Better,” Kuroo murmurs. “Now you.” 

Kuroo grins, eyes fixed on the visible bob of Oikawa’s throat as he sinks down between Oikawa’s thighs. His knees nudge Oikawa’s legs apart as he grips the hem of Oikawa’s shirt, yanking it upwards. Kuroo rucks Oikawa’s shirt up past his stomach, mouthing reverently along the rise of Oikawa’s hips, his navel, his bellybutton as Oikawa pants and writhes beneath him. 

“Tetsu—Tetsurou.” Oikawa inhales sharply through his nose. The shirt’s tossed over Kuroo’s shoulder, as easily forgotten as the textbook. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Kuroo’s knees are weak, his throat dry as arousal ripples through him sharp and sudden as a crack of a whip. “Oh. I can,” Kuroo wets his lips, “yeah, I can definitely do that.” 

He bends forward and takes his time to catalogue every plane and groove of Oikawa’s chest. Kuroo’s fingers flit lower and lower until they’d reached the waistband of Oikawa’s jeans. Oikawa’s glaring at him now, the jut of his lip sullen and Kuroo heavily considers blowing a raspberry against Oikawa’s stomach just to tease him but he’s distracted from the thought when Oikawa yanks him down into another heated kiss. 

Kuroo’s deft fingers make quick work of the buttons on Oikawa’s jeans, popping them open as he captures every sharp hiss and hiccupped moan between the crushing slide of their mouths. He’s rewarded with a full-bodied tremor when he lowers his hand between them and cups the obvious tent in Oikawa’s jeans. 

Oikawa whimpers against Kuroo’s mouth, his hips twitching as Kuroo’s fingers skirt beneath the waistband of his boxers. Kuroo’s hand wraps around Oikawa’s cock, his strokes slicked by Oikawa’s precum as he works his fist around him, once, twice, building up to a steady rhythm.

“T-Tetsu, c’mon, just—” Oikawa’s words are drowned out by a loud groan that isn’t his own.

They pull away from the kiss, Kuroo releasing Oikawa as they blink hard at the realization that the noise are coming from outside the room.

“Feh, what the hell?”

“Bokuto… Iwaizumi… Akaashi. We forgot they’re still here,” Oikawa says faintly. His face contorts in a grimace. 

Kuroo laughs into his own hands. “Oh my god, you’re right. _Shit_.” 

Oikawa tenses. “You don’t think they’re really—” As if on cue, they hear the unmistakable creaks and squeaks of a mattress carrying through the thin walls. 

“Maybe they’re just fucking with us,” suggests Kuroo in an attempt to placate Oikawa whose face has turned a blistering shade of red. 

_“Iwaizumi-san, you can pull on my hair if you’d like.”_

Kuroo’s own ears turn pink at Iwaizumi’s answering whine. “Okay, so maybe not.” Still straddling Oikawa’s thighs, Kuroo shifts forward again and opens Oikawa’s nightstand drawer. He grins and waggles his brows. “Maybe we can out-do them and they’ll leave.”

Oikawa smirks back. His hands are warm where they settle on Kuroo’s hips. “My, my, Tetsu-chan,” he gasps, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Oikawa rubs his thumb over the jut of Kuroo’s hipbones. “You’ve changed.”

“What can I say?” Kuroo says, bending down to suck at Oikawa’s bottom lip. Voice low and adoring, he teases, “You bring out the worst in me.” 

Oikawa laughs against Kuroo’s mouth, the sound breathless and warm and happy. Their eyes meet and Kuroo’s chest aches.

_“Ah, hhah, Kou-Koutarou, more, I need, oh fuck—”_

Moment shattered, Oikawa reaches for his pillow and tugs it over his head with a distraught noise. “Kill me, please. If you care about me at all, you’ll put an _end_ —”

“Hey.” Kuroo pushes the pillow away, a warm smile curling his lips as he presses tender kisses along Oikawa’s jaw. “We’ll go back to my place, alright?” He nudges their noses together. “I’ll run us a bath, light some candles…”

Oikawa’s fingers curl in the hair along Kuroo’s nape. “ _Sap_.”

“Mmm, you’re into it, though.”

Oikawa grins, his smile broad and abashed. “God help me, but I _am_.” 

~*~

“If you’re looking for the comics, they aren’t there anymore.”

“Mm?” Oikawa looks up from the newspaper he’s holding, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. The sunlight seeping through the blinds catches on his long lashes.

“The comic section,” Kuroo clarifies as he tears his gaze away. He takes a long sip of his coffee. “Bokuto takes ‘em out to read.”

Oikawa grins, hooks their pinkies together. Voice slurred and sleep-rough, he confesses, “Wasn’t looking for them. M’reading our horoscopes.”

“Oh, _our_ horoscopes?” Kuroo asks, secretly pleased. He leans forward, brows raised as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “What’s it say, hmm? Am I about to come into a grand fortune of some kind?”

“You know that’s not how it works.” Oikawa rolls his eyes, even as his smile turns secretive, mischievous, like it always does whenever Kuroo indulges him. “But since you asked.” With an impressive amount of gusto, Oikawa flaps open the newspaper. 

He sits up straighter in his chair and clears his throat before reading, “Ah, the Scorpio. Says here you should—I can _hear_ you snickering,” Oikawa gently kicks him beneath the table, “—it _says_ , ‘Today’s a day for taking risks. Follow your heart, and you’ll be rewarded.’ Ooh, sounds exciting~”

_Take a risk._

Sounds dauntingly vague, as these things always are, and yet…

Kuroo thinks of the recent anxiety that’s been gnawing at him.

He chews on the inside of his cheek, his gut twisting as he churns his spoon in his coffee.

“I—Tetsu-chan?” Oikawa’s teasing smile slips from his face when he sees how tense Kuroo’s become.

Kuroo sighs and steels himself. There’s only so long he can put this off, and now’s as good a time as any.

“Tetsu-chan?”

With all the caution of someone diffusing a bomb, Kuroo says, “My parents want to meet you.”  
His shoulders hunch as he braces himself for Oikawa’s reaction.

_It’s probably too much, too fast—_

“Okay.”

Kuroo’s spoon clatters to the floor. “… _okay_?” At first, he isn’t sure if he’s heard it right.

“Okay,” Oikawa repeats, neither his voice nor his gaze wavering.

“...and my grandmother does, too.” Heat creeps up along his neck, over his shoulders, as he thinks about their last phone call where she’d given him an earful for not having introduced them yet.

“Oh, I know.” Oikawa lifts his own coffee mug to his mouth, his lips curving against the rim.  
Kuroo’s never felt so out of his depth. His mouth hangs open as his brows draw together.

“You?—”

“Your grandmother messaged me on Facebook about a week ago—lovely lady by the way!—she said it felt like a personal slight against her that her stubborn grandson hasn’t arranged for us to meet. After all, we’re practically _family_ now.” Oikawa tsks.

Kuroo slaps a hand over his face and groans. “She _didn’t_.”

“Oh, but she _did_ ,” Oikawa confirms with maniacal glee. “So when am I meeting them? This weekend? The following one? What’s the dress code? Casual? Formal? Oh, oh, you should invite them to my next game!”

“Oh my god, you _want_ to meet them,” Kuroo says with dawning realization. His hands slide down his cheeks. “Have the aliens finally gotten to you? Swapped your brain with someone else’s?”

Oikawa snickers and slams his palm down against the dining room table. “Aha, so you do believe!” His grin falters when he sees that Kuroo’s still hesitant. Huffing, Oikawa puts his coffee down and hooks his heel behind the leg of Kuroo’s chair, dragging Kuroo closer until their knees bump and their chairs knock into each other.

“Tetsu-chan.” Kuroo’s hardly breathing as Oikawa slowly eases himself into Kuroo’s lap. Oikawa smiles and cups Kuroo’s cheeks in his hands. He bows their heads together so there’s no place else to look besides into Oikawa’s gaze, which is soft and genuine and adoring. “Tetsurou.”

He says Kuroo’s name like a prayer, or a promise, Kuroo can’t really tell. 

Kuroo shivers beneath him.

“Hey, listen to me.” Oikawa tilts Kuroo’s chin up with his thumb. “I’m serious about us. I _wanna_ to adopt a bunch of kittens with you, someday. I _wanna_ share a crappy apartment flat with you. And I _want_ to meet your parents, whenever you’re ready.”

“It could be awkward,” Kuroo argues weakly as Oikawa’s breath tickles his ear.

“More awkward than overhearing our friends having sex?”

“You might have a point, there.”

“Of course I do.” When Oikawa smiles, Kuroo feels the ghost of it against his own lips. Oikawa drags the tips of his fingers through Kuroo’s hair. “Besides, I’m desperate to know if the tragic bedhead runs in the family. Is it a genetic thing? A Tetsurou-specific thing? Inquiring minds need to know.”

Kuroo snorts. He can’t fight the beatific grin spreading across his face as he pulls Oikawa closer, one hand braced on Oikawa’s knee, his other hand clenching in the thin fabric of Oikawa’s loose t-shirt. The shirt’s his own; he recognizes it by the small holes in its seams, its color faded from too many washes.

Oikawa’s been begging him for _weeks_ now to toss it.

Kuroo chuckles low in his throat and leans up to press soft kisses to Oikawa’s collar, his chin, his throat, anywhere Kuroo’s lips can reach. “This is mine,” he murmurs against Oikawa’s shoulder as his fingers tug lightly at the hem of the shirt.

“Oh? Is it?” Oikawa’s back arches he rolls his hips forward, slow and teasing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re a menace,” Kuroo accuses without any real heat. He tips his head back against the chair as his hips rise to meet Oikawa’s languid thrusts.

Oikawa hums as he rakes his nails down along Kuroo’s back, too gentle to leave any marks. Chin tucked against Kuroo’s shoulder, Oikawa declares, “ “I’m gonna charm the _hell_ out of your family.”

_Of course Oikawa would be scheming during a time like this._

It startles a laugh from Kuroo and once he starts, he can’t stop. His whole body shakes with laughter, his sides aching and his face turning bright red as he clamps a hand over his own mouth.

“Don’t laugh at me, you ass, I’m serious.” Oikawa shoves at Kuroo’s shoulder. “Parents happen to _adore_ me, okay?”

Kuroo doesn’t doubt that for a second.

“M’not,” Kuroo manages in between wheezes. “Shit, m’not laughing at you.” He takes a deep breath and wipes at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “I just—I’m so gone on you, y’know?”

“Oh.” Oikawa’s cheeks are pink as he threads their fingers together. “I kinda like you, too.” Oikawa ducks down and kisses Kuroo. It’s clumsy and imperfect, Oikawa’s glasses knocking against Kuroo’s nose, but neither of them really minds.

“So, dinner with the parents?” Oikawa coos when their lips part, his brows waggling.

Kuroo knows that tone—it’s the one Oikawa uses when he’s about to cause trouble.

Suspicion creeps over him. “You’re not gonna embarrass me, are you?”

“Now Tetsu-chan, you _know_ I can’t promise that.”

Kuroo huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he nuzzles in closer. He sighs and traces his fingers over the arch of Oikawa’s spine. “We’re _really_ doing this, huh?”

Kuroo still can’t believe that it’s all real; that he gets to have _this._

“Mmm.” Oikawa press a chaste kiss to the crown of Kuroo’s head and looks down at him. He squeezes Kuroo’s hand. “Seems that way.”

Content beyond words, Kuroo beams and hides his grin against the nape of Oikawa’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man ^^' i'm sorry for making you guys wait as long as you have  
> also, there's still gonna be art for the last two chapters so remember to follow either me or nat or both to keep an eye out for that :D

**Author's Note:**

> written as a collaboration between me and [NatRoze ](http://www.natroze.tumblr.com)(nat did the artwork, I wrote the story)
> 
>  [First Picture](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/139249857714/oikawa-grins-whatever-you-say-tetsu-chan)
> 
> [Second Picture](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/138821673804/eyyyy-now-that-im-home-i-can-properly-%0Apost-about)
> 
> [Third Picture](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/140037609789/kuroo-tenses-up-at-the-mention-of-iwaizumi-its)
> 
>  [Fourth Picture](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/140657759734/kuroo-winks-and-slides-the-cherry-out-over-the-jut)
> 
>  [Fifth Picture](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/141384822029/kuroo-shudders-as-oikawa-presses-a-final-kiss-to)
> 
> [Final Pictures](http://natroze.tumblr.com/post/147845497454/hey-yall-if-you-missed-it-the-dream-that-wakes-you)
> 
> reblogs are really appreciated because they help show support for both the artist and this story ^^
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://www.tobioslilgiant.tumblr.com) **l** [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/ambyguity_)


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